I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields chp 1,2&3
by Zahra-Ali
Summary: Three decades have passed, yet still Vincent cannot relinquish the demons of his past. Nor in fact will they relinquish him: a frightened young girl, a terrifying gunman, a troubled young man, him and a dream tantalising a dark, chaotic mind...
1. Default Chapter

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields – chp. 1-3  
  
The busy cars packed the streets as the snow fell gently one cold February afternoon in Midgar. With the platforms that used to block the slums from the sky destroyed by Meteor, the people below could enjoy, or suffer, from the weather as never before. The truth was, snow wasn't the only thing new to the slums of Midgar. What with ShinRa wiped out, a new mayor was elected to start the period of "Rebuilding". Whatever was left of the ShinRa Headquarters was torn down, and new buildings began springing out of the cold ground; there was a greater emphasis on freedom of expression and choice; but probably most importantly, old, decaying slums were being exterminated while new, cleaner neighborhoods were created. As a result,  
Midgar rapidly transformed: from shops to TV to business organizations to economic policies, literally, everything changed.  
  
As Tifa skipped across the street, she tightened her shawl around her neck. Yes, it's very cold today, she remarked to herself, I hope Cloud can do without me for a while. She made her way along the alley and emerged into a little, cobble-stoned square with a broken fountain marking its center.  
  
"Hm..this must be it," she murmured while producing a small note from her pocket. The note simply had "Meet me at the Rosa Cafe in Tally Square at 5 o'clock. It's urgent" scribbled on it. Tifa could not guess who wrote her this message. She thought perhaps Barret sent it, but Cloud, who now lived with her, discredited that idea. Barret lived so far away. Besides, argued Cloud, since when did Barret have such nice hand-writing?  
  
She sighed in annoyance when she found the Cafe. It was an extremely small,  
snug-looking place, with a fancy, green neon sign reading "Rosa Cafe". She couldn't explain why, but she had an ominous feeling about this "meeting".;  
But she came this far, and may as well continue. So, she entered it,  
determined to finish quickly.  
  
Pushing the glass door, Tifa immediately noticed that barely anyone was in the cafe. Only an old man reading his newspaper over a cup of coffee. when Tifa met his eye, the old man made no sign of recognition, but took a sip of his coffee and flipped the page. Not him, deduced Tifa. She looked around again, in case her eyes had deceived her, but nobody else was there.  
Hmph, just a practical joke, she frowned.  
  
"Miss Lockhart, yes?"  
  
Tifa jumped at the mention of her name, and turned around quickly in surprise. A man around thirty years old stood towering over her, with a polite smile to greet her.  
  
"Y..yes. That's me," she stammered, taken aback.  
  
"I'm glad you decided to come," commented the man, "would you like something to drink?"  
  
He ordered a plain coffee, but Tifa declined the offer out of mistrust. As they sat in a booth at the corner of the cafe, Tifa thought there was something strangely striking about the man in front of her. he was dressed in a smart, black business suit and an obviously expensive trench coat. But Tifa didn't find that aspect too peculiar. It was probably his face, she reasoned. The man had a good-looking face with gentle, almost aristocratic,  
features. but he had pure, snow-white hair that struck her as almost unnatural. It was thick, soft, and some locks of hair hung graciously infront of his face, but the color wasn't right. Then she noticed the bizarre color of his eyes: they were dark pink. Tifa couldn't remember ever seeing such a unique color.  
  
"Well then," began the man, interrupting Tifa's thoughts, "I suppose you want to know why I asked for you."  
  
"Yes," replied Tifa, uneasily, "You send me a message, invite me to coffee, and I don't even know your name!"  
  
"Eh well," smiled the man as he sipped some of his coffee, "I'm not worth knowing."  
  
Tifa frowned discontently at his reply, "Very well, Sir, what do you want from me?"  
  
"I won't waste your time, Miss Lockhart," said the man as he placed the cup in the saucer. He reached for a pocket inside his trench coat and tossed a picture in front of Tifa.  
  
"Do you know this man, Miss Lockhart?"  
  
Tifa picked up the picture and examined the face...it looked so  
familiar. The young man in the picture wore a navy blue suit...a Turks suit, Tifa noticed. He had thick, jet black hair cut short, and bright,  
blue eyes. Tifa scrutinized the face for a minute...that face..is it..  
  
"Is it Vincent Valentine??" asked Tifa in surprise. she knew Vincent was a Turk, but she never imagined him to look like that.  
  
"Yes, indeed. It is Vincent Valentine, confirmed the man, "I apologize..the picture is very old, but I hear he didn't change that much,  
so he's still recognizable."  
  
That was true, reflected Tifa, Vincent never grew old externally. he always looked as old as he always did when Hojo..."altered" his body.  
  
"But," began Tifa cautiously, "Why are you showing me his picture?"  
  
"I'd like to ask you, Miss Lockhart, do you know where I could find Mr.  
Valentine?"  
  
Tifa stared at him in surprise, "Excuse me..? You..you're asking me where Vincent is?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
there was something very cold in the man's curt reply, almost malicious,  
as his gaze pierced Tifa's eyes. it was as if he were trying to extract the information by force. Tifa fingered her shawl nervously and dodged his eyes by looking down.  
  
"Sir, to be honest, I don't know where he is," she replied deliberately.  
  
"Are you sure?" asked the man, as he lighted a cigarette he produced from his side pocket, " I know you made contact with him about a year ago, and that Mr. Valentine joined your Avalanche group shortly afterwards. Are you sure he didn't hint at where he was going after you all separated?"  
  
How the Hell does this man know all this, wondered Tifa with rising suspicion.  
  
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Valentine never mentioned where he was going. I last saw him in Midgar, but we all separated, and he went his own way."  
  
"Not even a guess, miss Lockhart?" asked the man, puffing his cigarette casually, "can you guess where I may find him?"  
  
Tifa picked up the picture again, this time focusing on Vincent's eyes.  
They were beautiful, but expressionless, just as they always were, and betrayed nothing. That's what always struck Tifa about Vincent; he only spoke when spoken to, he avoided any type of attention, and always, always stood aloof. Tifa put down the picture, and took a deep breath.  
  
"Listen," started Tifa resolutely, "when avalanche disbanded, all the members took a different route. Mr. Valentine never, ever mentioned what he planned to do. In fact, he simply walked away, without a goodbye, and disappeared. That's all I know, Sir."  
  
He looked at her quietly as she finished, and then an awkward silence ensued between them. he puffed his cigarette one last time as he languidly replied, "I see."  
  
The man extinguished his cigarette, took some money out of his wallet to pay for the coffee, and finally retracted the picture to his pocket.  
  
"Then, I thank you for you time, miss Lockhart. Good day."  
  
he rose up to leave, but Tifa halted him, "Wait! Why do you want to find Vincent so badly??"  
  
The man, however, ignored her and hurriedly walked out of the restaurant.  
Tifa looked through the restaurant window as he plodded away until he disappeared from her sight.  
  
Why Vincent, of all people? wondered Tifa. does he know him?  
  
Tifa walked sullenly back to her restaurant, which was also her home. The meeting had obviously no good effect on her. In fact, she felt grumpy and totally discontent with it. Nevertheless, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened between her and that strange man. By the time she reached her destination, the streets had emptied a little and the snow had ceased falling. She ascended a flight of stairs to a porch of a small, clean building, marked with a clear sign above the door reading "Tifa's Seventh Heaven".  
  
"I'm home," said Tifa, absent-mindedly as she entered and shut the door behind her.  
  
"Hey, Tifa!" greeted Cloud, kissing her cheek quickly then returning to mopping the floor, "Whew! Glad you're back! washing these floors just isn't my thing. My Back's killing me!"  
  
Tifa sat at one of the of the tables, and stared downwards at her boots.  
why did the man seem so bent on finding Vincent? In fact, how'd he know Vincent was a member of Avalanche? or for that matter, how did he even know Vincent never aged?  
  
"Yo! Tifa!!" interrupted Cloud, placing his hand on her shoulder firmly.  
  
"Ah! W...what??" stammered Tifa, surprised.  
  
"You okay? I asked you if anyone showed up for that message?" Cloud bent over her, examining her face in concern," Are you alright? You looked as if you were logged on to another dimension."  
  
"Oh, I'm fine, Cloud!" answered Tifa, cheerfully.  
  
"Well, who sent it?"  
  
"Sent what?"  
  
"Sent the message, silly!"  
  
It just then occurred to Tifa that she didn't even know the man's name.  
  
"Hey..Cloud?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do you know where Vincent went after we killed Sephiroth?"  
  
Cloud looked at her oddly, "Vincent?? Um..no, he never mentioned where he was going."  
  
Tifa got up, and as she made herself a drink at the bar, asked curiously,  
"Well, can you guess?"  
  
"Tifa, asked cloud as he walked up to her, "why are you asking me about Vincent?"  
  
"No..I was just wondering," replied Tifa, in an attempt to dispel Cloud's suspicions.  
  
"Well, I dunno!" answered Cloud, scratching his head, "It's not like Vincent was the most talkative guy I met! All I know is his name and that he used to be a Turk in ShinRa."  
  
"yeah, but...where do you he went?"  
  
"How should I know?" smiled Cloud, uncomfortable with Tifa's persistence,  
" He could have gone back to his coffin in Nebilheim...or maybe he went to Junon City. Who knows?" continued Cloud as he turned away from Tifa and shrugged his shoulders, "he could be living here in Midgar, for all I know."  
  
Tifa was silent as she gulped down her drink. Yes, she reflected, Vincent could be anywhere in the world. no wonder that man was so annoyed.  
  
"So, Tifa," began Cloud, resuming his mopping of the floor, "did anyone show up for that message?"  
  
"Hm? oh no," muttered Tifa, " no, it was just some idiot's idea of a practical joke." She saw no reason in telling him what happened, so she kept silent.  
  
"Well, we'd better start opening up. Our coffee break's almost over,  
y'know."  
  
"Okay," agreed Tifa. cloud was such a help to her in running this restaurant. After the meteor incident, they decided to live together and run a new restaurant together as a business. Cloud sometimes got uneasy with this settled life, but Tifa thought it only natural. after all,  
everyone in Avalanche had got used to life on the road.  
  
Tifa tossed the message in the thrash basket as she set the chairs neatly on the floor. Whoever that weird man was, he seemed almost obsessed with finding Vincent.  
  
Well, good luck to him, she mused. Vincent could be anywhere...even here in busy Midgar. And with that, Tifa forgot the matter, and thought no more of it.  
  
The bell in the City Tower tolled eleven times as the train noisily made its way along the endless tracks. The passengers inside began gathering their belongings and getting up as the train halted with a loud whistle and opened its doors at the station. Many people flocked out, leaving the train almost empty. Before the doors shut again, a loud voice announced over the intercom, "Last destination: Sector 3, west of Midgar. Time of arrival:  
11:32 P.M". Then, after a slight jolt, the train resumed its journey to the final station.  
  
Vincent dropped into a seat by the window, placing his hand under his chin. he gazed at the dark skyline and the lonely moon that decorated the sky as the train emerged from the tunnel, on its way to Sector 3.  
  
The monotonous rumbling of the train on the tracks beat against his tired head, but he responded by tightening his long, black coat around him, and shutting his eyes firmly. Two other passengers across the car glanced at him apprehensively and whispered between themselves. Vincent knew they were discussing his metal claw and frightful appearance; they probably thought him a criminal or some kind of psychopath. But he could care less what others thought of him. Their opinion never mattered.  
  
Vincent then felt a dull pain slowly forming in his chest. He gripped his chest firmly and tightened his eyes in an attempt to soothe the agony. The pain, however, steadily became sharper, but Vincent continued to clutch his chest, trying to master the attack. suddenly, he bent over sharply and,  
with one hand over his mouth, began coughing violently. Although he tried to control the fit, he could feel his chest throbbing with intense pain as the seizure grew unbearable. He sensed some warm liquid sprinkle on his hand that covered his mouth, but the seizure felt as though it were squeezing the very life out of him.  
  
The two passengers gawked at him stupidly, as if they'd never seen a man cough, then quickly retreated to the next car, grumbling about weirdos and disgusting disease.  
  
After a minute of agonizing struggle, the coughing fit eased, and the pain quickly disappeared. Vincent, gasping for breath, rubbed his forehead and wiped away some beads of sweat from his pale face. He then noticed that the palm of his hand which had covered his mouth during the fit had tiny splashes of blood bespattering it. He examined his hand curiously, then wiped his mouth with the back of it. As he suspected, there was some blood on his mouth. The liquid he had felt was his blood.  
  
"Damn," he whispered to himself, "this is getting bad."  
  
The booming voice announced that the final destination was reached and that all citizens were kindly requested to step off the train. Vincent immediately dismounted. He looked around once, as if suspicious of some invisible enemy, and then wrapped his black coat firmly around himself to avoid the chill air that blew through the empty station.  
  
With quick steps, he made his way out of the train station, and followed a dingy alleyway into another narrow street. the cold air mercilessly stung his face, but he felt slightly feverish because of that last coughing fit.  
After clearing that street, Vincent reached the main square, which was bustling with people eager to enjoy their weekends. Many bars had their doors wide open to welcome customers. Young people weren't afraid to laugh out loud. Some couples walked hand in hand along the shops as they whispered affectionately.  
  
Vincent, however, felt the fever growing worse as he staggered along the square among all the merry-makers. Lights and colors flashed around his head; strange faces and figures danced in front of his eyes; unfamiliar sounds and voices only threw him into more confusion. he stumbled over a stone, but luckily gripped a low fence before falling to the ground.  
Feeling the same, familiar ache beginning to form again, he grit his teeth resolutely.  
  
Okay, decided Vincent, I am obviously in no condition to go any further.  
I must get a hold on myself....  
  
He collapsed with a tired sigh into a bench placed near a tree, and bending over, covered his face with one hand. A young woman seated near him noticed his sharp claw and immediately rose, then ran away in fear.  
Vincent, however, was oblivious to anything save the dull pain that cruelly gnawed at his chest and the fever that plagued him. He felt another seizure coming up, but struggled vigorously to repress it. Fortunately, the attack wasn't that acute, so the pain soon vanished and Vincent breathed easily again.  
  
He thought it best to get up and go home, but, much to his surprise,  
fatigue had paralyzed both his legs.  
  
So, after some deliberation, he decided to rest on the bench for a while before moving. He leaned back to stare at the starless sky, ignoring the odd glances people gave him. the big, round moon that hung in the pitch black sky struck him as strangely soothing and relaxing.  
  
it's almost as if a person had placed a single pearl against a black cloth of silk, mused Vincent, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He shut his eyes slowly, ready to fall asleep any moment.  
  
A sharp cry, however, pierced the air, dispersing all sleep from his eyes.  
Vincent jumped out of his seat and turned around in alarm. Many people, in fact, turned their heads confusedly to see what caused the commotion.  
  
Vincent saw a young, slender girl rushing among the people in a panic. The girl was wet and miraculously kept on her feet, but she still persisted to run frantically as though possessed by a demon.  
  
People dodged the girl as best as they could, but she savagely knocked down an unsuspecting man and shoved another passer-by to the side.  
  
"OUT OF MY WAY!!!!" she shouted  
  
Before he knew what happened, Vincent felt something crash into him with a great force. despite the magnitude of the crash, it barely had an impact on him, as he was only pushed back slightly; but the young girl, who had collided into him, bounced back and fell to the ground. People gathered around the two, and amidst loud murmurs, wondered who the delirious girl was.  
  
Vincent, on realizing that he had knocked the girl down, bent over her and touched her shoulder gently, "Miss? Are you alright?"  
  
Up close, the girl looked about 20 and very pretty, in spite of her disarrayed hair that covered her face and filthy, drenched rags. She looked up at Vincent as if she didn't understand him.  
  
Vincent, however, gaped at her in sudden astonishment. He could have sworn he'd seen her somewhere before. Neither spoke as they stared at each other;  
one in confusion, the other in surprise.  
  
Vincent cautiously reached for the girl's pale face, and pushing some of her hair away from her face, met her bright, green eyes that he recognized at once.  
  
"Aeris?!!!" Vincent blurted out.  
  
The girl blinked in deeper confusion, "W..what?"  
  
"A..Aeris....how..what are.." stammered Vincent in absolute bewilderment as he narrowed his eyes to confirm his eyesight.  
  
The girl, however, pushed Vincent aggressively away from her with a shriek,  
"Get away from me!! GET AWAY!!!"  
  
This time, the push knocked Vincent off his feet, and he landed on his bottom. The girl quickly jumped to her feet and pushed her way through the crowd in a frenzy.  
  
I'm sure that was Aeris, thought Vincent. Yes, I'm sure!!  
  
"Hey, Aeris!!" He shouted, springing to his feet and rushing after her, "Aeris! Wait!!"  
  
He caught sight of her dodging into a dark alley around a corner, and ran as hard as he could after her.  
  
There's no mistake, he repeated, that was Aeris!! But how could she be alive?!! She..she died about a year ago!!  
  
The end of the alley was a dead end, as he soon discovered. He slowly looked around as he gasped for air, then glanced back at the alley's sole exit to make sure he didn't miss some hidden side street. No trace of her.  
  
His ears, however, discerned a stifled sob near by. He turned his head to the source. Creeping softly to an overturned car, he peeked behind it to find the girl huddled by the vehicle, knees drawn in and head bent over.  
The cold had obviously greatly deteriorated her health; she shivered piteously and seemed to be suffering from fever.  
  
"Aeris?" whispered Vincent, coming near her.  
  
The girl looked up in alarm, with tears in her eyes. She immediately sprang to her feet, ready to flee again, but Vincent quickly grabbed her wrist firmly to prevent her from escaping.  
  
"Let me go! Let me go!" screamed the girl, scratching his hand with her nails to loosen his grip.  
  
"Okay..okay..listen to me for a minute," commanded Vincent, muffling her mouth with his iron claw as he pushed her against the wall. The girl, on seeing his claw so near, froze solid and made no sign of resistance. She just stared, petrified, at his bizarre hand then his blood-red eyes. She probably thought Vincent intended to murder her.  
  
When Vincent decided she was calm enough, he resumed his talk with the girl, but didn't remove his claw from her mouth, "Now listen. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you. Do you understand, Aeris?"  
  
"Why do you call me that??" cried the girl, removing Vincent's iron claw from her mouth, "I don't know you! You have me confused with another person! I don't know you!"  
  
Vincent looked at her oddly as he gradually loosened his grip on her .She rubbed her wrist while looking down at the ground. She shivered when she noticed the red mark Vincent left on her wrist.  
  
"You...don't even remember me vaguely?" asked Vincent.  
  
"I..I don't know you..." she whispered harshly, avoiding his eyes, "I don't know anything..."  
  
Vincent studied her haggard face silently. Did she lose her memory? How,  
when she was supposed to be dead? Damn it, cursed Vincent internally,  
what's going on here?  
  
"You...you hurt my wrist..." sobbed the girl miserably.  
  
Vincent had no idea how to respond to her complaint, and blinked in embarrassment while she chafed her wrist and sniffled. He placed her injured wrist in the palm of his claw and gently rubbed it with his other hand to mollify her.  
  
"Sorry.." he muttered, "I didn't mean to grab you so hard.."  
  
A sudden echo of rushing footsteps through the alley forced Vincent to turn around. The girl stared at the alley's entrance with a shiver.  
  
A group of tall, dark figures finally appeared, completely blocking the alley's only exit. They were shrouded in darkness, but judging from the slight glitter each figure's hand gave off, Vincent guessed they all carried guns. Automatic pistols, none the less, added Vincent reflectively.  
  
He pushed the girl behind him forcefully.  
  
"Who's there?" he asked in a calm, icy tone.  
  
"We want the girl behind you."  
  
Vincent felt the girl clutch his coat from behind, but she refused to stare at anything but the dark figures up ahead.  
  
"I'm sorry, but she obviously doesn't want your company," retorted Vincent in the same cold, contemptuous tone.  
  
There was another brief silence, then one dark figure came a step closer.  
Vincent heard the loud click of a gun as the man warned, "Just step aside from that girl, and no one will get hurt."  
  
"Don't believe them," whispered the girl to Vincent viciously, "When they get me...they'll just shoot you.."  
  
"I'm warning you!" boomed the voice of the figure, "One wrong move, and you'll have more holes in you than Swiss Cheese!"  
  
"Please...don't believe them.." pleaded the girl.  
  
"Well?" shouted the figure menacingly.  
  
Vincent looked around at the pitiful girl, then at the group of mysterious figures blocking the alley. They probably have all their guns aimed at my head, thought Vincent. If I say no, they'll definitely blast my head clean off.  
  
"Alright," replied Vincent finally, "Don't shoot me. I'll get out of the way."  
  
The girl looked at him in disbelief, but didn't utter a word. She reluctantly let go of his coat as he made way for her to go to the figures.  
Vincent could hear their fingers easing on their triggers, but looked sternly at the girl.  
  
"Okay, A-25, come over here nice and easy!" ordered the dark figure authoritatively.  
  
The wretched girl felt her heart pound violently as she began heading towards the dark men. Every limb in her body trembled and she felt that she'd faint any second. Vincent, however, only narrowed his red eyes while concentrating on the dark group, as though waiting for some signal.  
  
"That's a good girl," remarked one voice, quite amused.  
  
"Be an obedient girl, and you won't get hurt," commented another voice,  
causing the others to burst out laughing.  
  
The girl shut her eyes to suppress a sob, but before she could reopen them, she felt someone suddenly encircle her waist and pull her back. She saw a swift arm extend over her shoulder and fire seven consecutive shots with amazing rapidity.  
  
The surprise move only lasted about ten seconds. When the last shot sounded off, all the figures were lying face down in the gutter, dead.  
  
"Sorry about that," whispered Vincent from behind her, "but I figured they were stupid enough to be distracted by you..I needed to put them off guard somehow."  
  
"You...killed them?" asked the girl meekly.  
  
"Yes. I shot their heads."  
  
"I.." stammered the girl, "I think I'm going to faint.."  
  
With that last feeble remark, the girl lost conscious and her head dropped against Vincent's shoulder. He wondered what he should do now; he had seven dead bodies in the alley and a sick girl who should be dead lying unconscious on his shoulder.  
  
He slowly placed the girl on the ground momentarily to reload his gun.  
After throwing away the empty gun shells and holstering his weapon, Vincent wrapped the girl in his coat. He picked her up as gently as he could,  
careful not to hurt her with his sharp claw. He walked over the corpses he had brutally shot, kicking one body out his way contemptuously, and then ducked in a dark, narrow pathway across the street.  
  
The bell in the Tower tolled twelve times, signaling the arrival of midnight. And then all was silent.  
  
End of Chp 1-3  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	2. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -chp.4  
  
When she opened her eyes, the girl realized that she was in a very warm bed. Aeris (she did look like Aeris) blinked slowly for a few moments.  
  
It's so quiet, she thought, and so warm.  
  
She slowly sat up in bed, wondering where she was. Two thick blankets and a quilt covered her. She saw on the table next to the bed a white basin of cool water and a folded towel.  
  
The room was dimly lit, but she could see that it was very small. A desk and a bookcase humbly occupied one corner, while the closet stood in front of the bed. Near the desk was a closed window overlooking the street below.  
It was getting dark outside and the snow fell quietly.  
  
"Wh..where am I??" she whispered.  
  
She immediately jumped out of bed, but froze on the spot when noticing something peculiar: someone had changed her clothes while she was asleep!  
She was dressed only in a black, long-sleeved wooly shirt that barely managed to cover her thighs. Also, the shirt was too big for her slender body; one side constantly fell off her shoulder because the collar was too wide.  
  
She fingered it suspiciously. Even the sleeves were too long for her arms.  
  
"Why, this is a MAN's shirt!!" she cried aloud.  
  
Aeris turned red at the thought that perhaps a man had undressed her and clothed her in his shirt. Looking around the room again, she hoped to discover an answer, but found nothing.  
  
Sighing in annoyance, she walked to the door. Aeris cautiously opened it,  
then peeked to see what was there.  
  
"An apartment," she thought.  
  
She was, indeed, in an apartment, but the silence weighed on the place so heavily, Aeris dared not make a sound. Neverless, she stepped forward,  
determined to explore this strange place.  
  
The apartment, as she soon discovered, consisted of only four rooms, all connected by a hallway stretched in the middle. Judging from the size of the apartment, Aeris guessed that only one person lived here, two at most.  
  
She was particularly struck by the amount of books in the living room. The two bookcases that covered an entire wall were absolutely crammed with books of all sorts. Some were even placed on the table infront of the couch.  
  
When she reached the entrance of the kitchen, Aeris stood at it, but did not enter. It was small, with a wooden table and two chairs placed in the center. Perceiving something on the table, Aeris walked up to check it, not without some uneasiness.  
  
A disassembled gun lay on a white handkerchief, with several of its pieces surrounding it neatly. A bottle full of a yellow liquid stood near the gun.  
  
Aeris picked up the gun, then examined it with extreme curiosity. She wondered who could own such a cold, grim weapon.  
  
As if answering her question, a sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears. A sudden panic gripped her heart. She couldn't quite explain why, but this unreasonable terror made her listen intently as the footsteps grew closer and louder.  
  
When the footsteps stopped, Aeris heard a slight rattle at the doorknob,  
as though a key was being placed in it. She dropped the gun and rushed to the hall, clasping both her hands over her heart in anticipation.  
  
Vincent swung the door open and staggered in with a bag full of groceries.  
After removing the key, he shut the door again. Coughing a bit, he stomped his feet and brushed some snow off his black overcoat while still holding the bag.  
  
On noticing Aeris standing in the hallway, he finally turned around. But Aeris jumped back in alarm when she met his eyes. It never occurred to her that this man who had pursued her in the alley was the one who brought her here. What struck her more strange was the fright she felt the minute that man noticed her.  
  
"Oh, so you woke up, huh?" he asked calmly.  
  
She wanted to answer, but her voice failed her. When she realized that Vincent had walked up to her and was touching her forehead with his hand,  
she sprang back apprehensively.  
  
"Who..who are you?!!" she finally cried.  
  
Vincent looked at her very thoughtfully, but did not advance towards her.  
She glared back at him with mistrust and confusion.  
  
"Do you remember me?" he inquired.  
  
"Y..yes..you're that man who shot those men in the alley."  
  
"No, I mean do you remember me from before?"  
  
She fidgeted at her big shirt nervously before making any reply.  
  
"No..I've never seen you before..I don't remember.."  
  
Vincent narrowed his eyes as he studied her face, which made Aeris blush in embarrassment. But he soon brushed past her and stepped into the kitchen. He dumped the burdensome bag on the counter and began unloading it.  
  
Though she wouldn't dare come near him, Aeris curiously examined Vincent from the door. She remembered him fully now, but didn't recall his face clearly because it was so dark when they met.  
  
He struck her as very handsome, but extremely cold. Furthermore, though his facial features were quite dignified, he seemed strangely out of place;  
almost as if he didn't belong here. His thick, long black hair contrasted sharply with his pale skin and bloody-red eyes.  
  
He's like a monster..or some demon, Aeris noted as she observed him from the door.  
  
She spotted his iron claw glitter as he threw a roll of French bread into the bread basket, and shivered in spite of herself. She instantly remembered how cold it felt on her mouth.  
  
I wonder why he bothered saving me, she thought.  
  
"Hey," he said, turning to her from the counter, "You want something to eat?"  
  
Aeris blinked at him in surprise, but remained silent by the door. Vincent gave her an odd look, as if wondering whether she understood him or not,  
then turned his back to her again.  
  
She didn't know what he was doing, as he began pouring water into a pot and turning some dial. He then ripped some packet open and poured its contents into the pot.  
  
Not once did Vincent turn around, but Aeris knew he didn't need to; he could still see her behind him.  
  
When he finally finished, Vincent placed a small, steaming bowl of soup on the table. He took off his coat, tossed it on the counter carelessly, then sank into the chair in front of the disassembled gun. Aeris looked at him mistrustfully.  
  
"If you're hungry, you can drink that," he said coolly, indicating the soup. He picked up the gun and examined it carefully.  
  
She remained near the door for a few moments, then stepped cautiously into the kitchen. Vincent, however, ignored her and squirted some of the bottle's liquid on a piece of cotton. He began rubbing the muzzle of the gun.  
  
She stood facing Vincent, in front of the bowl of the soup. Despite the suspicious look she gave him, he continued to clean the gun. Sitting down,  
Aeris slowly picked up the bowl. Vincent glanced at her as he squirted more of the liquid on the cotton; but otherwise, he paid no attention to her.  
  
"Mm! This is delicious!!" she exclaimed after she took a sip. She gulped the whole soup at once, and smiled delightedly. Vincent picked up another gun part and cleaned it silently.  
  
"You're an excellent cook!" she praised.  
  
"I only boiled the water," he replied, not looking at her, " anybody can make soup if it comes from a packet."  
  
Aeris smiled at him more trustfully. He did appear frightening, but she felt sure he meant her no harm.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked timidly.  
  
"Vincent. Vincent Valentine."  
  
"Vincent Valentine.." she repeated in a whisper.  
  
He looked up at her significantly, and she felt her face turn crimson: she did not feel comfortable when he scrutinized her so intently.  
  
"And...you called me 'Aeris'...right?"  
  
"Yes," he answered, fitting a tight spring into the top of the gun.  
  
"Hm.."  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"I don't have a name, really. Um..they sometimes call me 'girl' or 'A-25'."  
  
"Who are 'they'?"  
  
Aeris was silent for some minutes. As she bent her head thoughtfully, some of her loose, thick curls fell on her face and bare shoulder. Vincent was surprised he never noticed before how pretty Aeris was.  
  
"The guards..and the Professor. They call me that.."  
  
"What Professor?" he asked, assembling his gun indifferently. Aeris was impressed how easily and quickly he fitted the gun parts together; he wasn't even looking at what he was doing. She realized that Vincent was no amateur, but had complete mastery over that gun.  
  
Vincent loaded the gun with a loud click, which startled Aeris. He looked her straight in the face, expecting an answer.  
  
"I..I don't know him. I never saw him," she stammered, "but he does all these ...things to me. Things that hurt me. So, I just ran away last night.."  
  
"Three days ago."  
  
"Huh?" she looked up quizzically.  
  
"It's been three days since you've escaped. You've had a severe fever for the last three days because you weren't dressed warmly, and went running around in the cold."  
  
"Oh," she said quietly. she felt her cheeks flush red as she lowered her eyes bashfully, "then, I suppose you undressed me and put this shirt on me."  
  
Vincent understood why she blushed, and turned his head away.  
  
"Ah.." he answered, with a slight cough, "you must understand, Aeris, your clothes were drenched, so I had to remove them."  
  
she looked up at him, and thought she saw him blushing slightly too; but she couldn't be too sure.  
  
"Sorry the shirt's too big for you," he apologized, "It was the only clean one I had at the time."  
  
"It's alright," she smiled kindly, "I still have to thank you for saving me and taking care of me. Thank you, Vincent."  
  
She bowed her head gratefully. Vincent seemed slightly embarrassed as he scratched the back of his head nervously.  
  
"No problem," he muttered.  
  
"Now," she began after a slight pause, "can you tell me why you keep on calling me 'Aeris'?"  
  
"Yes. About a year ago, I knew a young girl named Aeris. We weren't intimate, mind you. In fact, she barely knew my name."  
  
"Hm..and this Aeris..she looked exactly like me?"  
  
"Yes. However, she died about a year ago."  
  
For some reason, Aeris kept her eyes downcast, even though she knew Vincent's eyes were fixed on her. She began feeling very uneasy.  
  
"Maybe...," she faltered, "maybe she never died.."  
  
"Impossible. A man stabbed her with a sword right through her chest. She couldn't have survived."  
  
Suddenly, Aeris jumped out of her chair and stared at Vincent sharply.  
Something immediately struck her.  
  
"I have a scar on my back and chest..is that where I got them?! Some man stabbed me with a sword?! You saw the scar when you were dressing me,  
didn't you?!!"  
  
"Yes, I did," he replied calmly.  
  
"Then..how come I'm standing here, when I should be dead? You..you say I'm dead..but I...."  
  
Vincent got up and moved towards her, but she ran away to the far corner of the kitchen, giving him a dirty look.  
  
"And how do I know you're not lying? How do I know you're not just trying to confuse me?" she glared at him. Vincent listened to her, but did not advance towards her.  
  
"Heh!" she laughed nervously, "You could be with that Professor!! he's always saying things like that. 'Girl,' he'd say, 'it's such a shame you died..but never mind!' or he'd say, 'You're perfect..just like Aeris!'..I..I.."  
  
She gasped for breath, but still fixed her eyes on Vincent with increasing suspicion. He had remained silently rooted to his spot by the chair,  
staring intensely at her face.  
  
"I don't remember anything," she continued, "I don't remember having friends like you..I don't remember my parents..or what I did last year..Vincent, I couldn't even remember my name!"  
  
"Aeris..listen to.."  
  
"I'M NOT AERIS, DAMN YOU!!" she screamed.  
  
"Yes, yes you are," he replied, "just listen to me.."  
  
"Let me out!! I don't want to go back to that Professor!!!"  
  
Sweat broke out on her forehead as she yelled. Despite the burning sensation on her face, her body felt very cold. She began shivering involuntarily and grew unsteady on her feet. Vincent looked at her in alarm.  
  
"Let me go...let me go..." she whispered tiredly.  
  
But Vincent was by her side in two steps and picked her up quickly. He carried her back to the bed then covered her with the blankets. Aeris steadily regained self-control, but her face still felt so unbearably hot.  
  
"Aeris," he whispered, sitting near her on the bed, "you should sleep a bit now. The fever's worn off, but you could have a relapse." He soaked the towel into the basin and wiped it gently on her forehead and cheeks.  
  
"I know you're feeling confused now, but you should realize that I'm not connected with this 'Professor', do you understand?"  
  
Aeris looked at him wearily, but understood him.  
  
"You hardly know me, so it would be unfair to ask you trust me," he continued, "but two of your friends will come here in a little while. Maybe they can help you find an answer. Now, go to sleep."  
  
Aeris turned her back to him and shut her eyes. Picking up the basin and towel, Vincent walked out of the room. He closed the door quietly.  
  
As she lay in bed, Aeris drifted into deep thought. She recalled that she ran away from the Laboratory...was persuedpursued...and then this strange man claims he knows her...and that she died, or should've died, a year ago. But she couldn't remember any of that! Not one single memory from the past. It seemed to her she had always lived in the lab...but how when...  
  
She threw the covers over her head, trying to stop all those thoughts from bombarding her brain. In one minute, she was fast asleep.  
  
-End of Chp 4.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	3. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.5  
  
It was quiet, and very dark.  
  
"You, my dear," echoed a haunting voice, "are just part of a test.."  
  
"What?" Aeris whispered, turning around in alarm.  
  
Aeris found herself standing in utter darkness. The silence ruthlessly crushed her, but she felt sure there was somebody with her, watching her closely; only she couldn't see anything.  
  
"Why, girl, what's wrong?" hissed the voice suddenly.  
  
"Who..who are you?!" she cried as she tried to see the speaker.  
  
"Fah! Look at you!" the voice scoffed, "You're just an image of another person! You're not real at all!"  
  
The voice broke into wild, hysterical laughter, but it seemed to surround Aeris from all directions. She covered her ears and began rushing through the darkness in hopes of escape; all in vain. The laughter cruelly perused her.  
  
Noticing that the cackling had ceased, Aeris stopped to catch her breath.  
Her heart pounded loudly. Neverless, she was frightfully alarmed at the sudden stillness of the place. She thought perhaps the speaker had vanished.  
  
"You are such a pathetic creature!" the voice boomed again, startling her,  
"Did you think you could escape me?"  
  
"Wh..what do you ..want with me?!!" she faltered angrily.  
  
"You are part of a test.."  
  
"What test?!"  
  
"But, you are just an image.."  
  
"What test?! What image?!"  
  
Aeris screamed desperately in all directions, but no answer came. Another deathly silence filled the darkness, almost suffocating her.  
  
"This..is some nightmare!!" she sobbed.  
  
Suddenly, a firm hand gripped her shoulder and forcefully swung her around. Much to her astonishment, Aeris found herself standing infront of a full length mirror.  
  
How that mirror had been produced, she could not guess. But, more importantly, she could not see her reflection, only a blurry image dancing playfully on the other side. Aeris tried hopelessly to distinguish the image, as if her life depended on it; as if she should know what it was.  
  
When the image settled down, it gradually began to form a distinct picture..of a young girl..  
  
Aeris froze solid as she stared at the image on the other side. All thoughts, emotions, and sensations abandoned her immediately. Her breath quickly shortened and her legs trembled with fear.  
  
A young girl with grey eyes blankly returned Aeris' stare. A peaceful,  
though rather stoic, expression shrouded her beautiful face. Her hallow eyes didn't gleam or glitter; her lips, slightly parted, were white. But the paleness of the girl's skin frightened Aeris the most; the girl was as white as snow.  
  
"Dear God..," Aeris muttered, finding her voice at last, "She's dead..and  
  
yet..she's me! She looks like me!"  
  
"Or rather, you look like her," corrected the same malicious voice, "You are the image, she is the reality."  
  
In an instant, the image melted away, leaving the mirror empty again.  
  
"Who are you?" Aeris asked.  
  
There was a stiffened hush for a few minutes. Aeris stared sternly at the mirror, as if expecting to find an answer there.  
  
"Who are you?!" she cried out, "SHOW YOURSELF!"  
  
No sooner had she uttered those words, than a most horrific image popped up on the mirror. A thin, sickly man in a tattered lab coat stared straight at her mockingly. Aeris was dumbfounded by his flaring yellow eyes and slimy-green skin that twitched incessantly. He greedily licked his lips, as if wanting to devour her. Though his dull black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, several strands literally sprang out and dangled defiantly infront of his gaunt face.  
  
Slowly, his thin lips curled upwards, displaying all his sharp, rotten teeth. Aeris thought he was trying to smile.  
  
She sat up in bed with a start and gasped for air. Clutching her chest,  
she attempted to calm her throbbing heart, but to no avail; that nightmare had frightened her out of her wits. It seemed so real to her..to real..  
  
"Hey, you okay?" asked a gentle voice.  
  
Despite the dimness of the room, Aeris noticed a young woman by her bedside, bending over her with genuine concern. This woman had long,  
beautiful dark brown hair and gazed kindly at Aeris with her bright honey-colored eyes. Aeris was certainly surprised; she had thought she was alone in the room.  
  
"Who..are you?" she asked confusedly.  
  
"It's alright," replied the woman, sitting by her on the bed and holding her hand coaxingly. She was eager to disperse any fear or mistrust Aeris had, "I'm a friend...um..that is, I'm a friend of Vincent. My name's Tifa."  
  
Tifa smiled good-humouredly, but Aeris merely stared with unconcealed puzzlement.  
  
When she realized that Aeris made no sign of recognizing her, Tifa stood up and studied Aeris' face intently.  
  
Yes, guessed Aeris tiredly, I know. She's like that man; she'll say that  
  
I'm her friend...and that she knows me..but I can't remember anything! I don't remember her either.  
  
"This is so strange!" exclaimed Tifa, studying Aeris' with interest,  
"Um..Vincent..he told you that you.."  
  
"I..," interrupted Aeris indignantly, "..that Vincent says the strangest things! And he won't explain anything to me, either! he's just stupid!! He says that I should know him, but I don't! He says I died, but I'm alive! He says I should remember everything, but I don't remember anything!!"  
  
By the time Aeris finished, her eyes had welled up with frustrated tears.  
She felt strangely angry at Vincent, as though he were somehow responsible for this misfortune. Tifa quickly embraced her, trying to soothe her wrecked nerves with gentle words.  
  
"Shh...don't be too hard on Vincent, Aeris," she pleaded, "You should have heard him when he phoned me. He was just as confused as you are now.  
Vincent doesn't mean any harm. He..well..all of us are so shocked! See, you were a very close friend of mine and Cloud. And all of a sudden, you just.."  
  
"Cloud?"  
  
"Yeah, Cloud," Tifa repeated with slight uneasiness. She immediately recalled how both girls had been undeclared rivals for Cloud's affections in the past. Some strange feeling pricked Tifa's heart as she looked into Aeris' green eyes. She couldn't quite explain what the sensation was.  
  
"Is Cloud...another friend of mine?" Aeris inquired.  
  
"Yes. Cloud, Vincent, me..we all want to help you."  
  
Aeris looked down in silence.  
  
"I'm sorry. I've been losing my temper a lot lately," she finally said.  
  
"It's okay. You're only human."  
  
That remark left a bitter tinge in Aeris' heart. She instantly recalled that nightmare, and shuddered with disgust.  
  
"You must be cold," commented Tifa, "here. I got you some clothes. I hope they fit you."  
  
"Clothes?"  
  
"Well, yeah. You don't wanna go on wearing Vincent's shirt, do you? It's way too big! And besides, what'll the poor guy wear?"  
  
So, after some hesitation, Aeris at last agreed to wear the clothes Tifa had brought her. As she quickly undressed, Tifa handed her a warm, long winter dress. It fit her perfectly, although the sleeves were slightly too long for Aeris' slender arms.  
  
"ah! That can be fixed!" smiled Tifa, folding the sleeves once. Now the dress was flawless. Nevertheless, Aeris frowned with discomfort as she felt her new clothes.  
  
At least they're more decent than the one he gave me, she thought.  
  
"Right," said Tifa with a brush in her hand, "do you want me brush your hair now?"  
  
"No, no, it's okay," replied Aeris, immediately edging away, "I can do that by myself. Thank you."  
  
Tifa discerned some uneasiness in Aeris' face and tone, so wisely decided to "give the girl some breathing space". She nodded her head quietly, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.  
  
Aeris was left alone. She slowly picked up the brush Tifa had placed on the bed, and searched the room until she discovered a small mirror hanging in a corner. She walked up to it, but stopped short when spotting her reflection. strange to say, she did not brush her thick, long hair.  
Instead, she gazed intently at her face in the mirror.  
  
Suddenly, Aeris spotted the same horrifying man behind her reflection in the mirror. His eyes glowed brightly and a wicked grin spread across his hideous face.  
  
She turned around sharply in alarm, but there was nothing behind her. She looked again suspiciously at her reflection: nothing there either.  
  
"I must be going mad," she murmured.  
  
Tossing the brush on the bed, she marched to the door and opened it to a tiny crack. The corridor was deserted, but Aeris could hear two voices discussing something in the living room down the hall. One spoke with obvious excitement; she didn't know his voice. The other answered with a surprisingly subdued calmness; that voice she immediately recognized.  
  
That must be Vincent, she deduced. A cold shudder tickled her spine.  
  
"Well?" asked the unfamiliar voice with agitation, "what do you think?"  
  
"I can make no definite conclusions about her for the time being," replied Vincent coolly.  
  
"She couldn't have survived! Impossible!" he cried, "you were there with me, Vincent! You saw it when that bastard stabbed her!"  
  
"Yes, and when I told her about that, she went into hysterics."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I had to carry her back to bed and calm her. She was very upset because she couldn't remember anything."  
  
"Forget that!" shouted the irritated voice, cutting Vincent short, "How the Hell could she be alive in the first place?!!"  
  
"Cloud, please calm down," pleaded Tifa, who was also in the room, but had remained silent.  
  
"All three of us were present when she was killed, Cloud," continued Vincent, not at all offended with Cloud's outburst, "and we all saw you place her body in that lake. But.."  
  
"But now, after a whole year, she just runs out of nowhere, and can't even remember her name?! Damn it, it doesn't make sense!!"  
  
"As I said, I cannot offer any logical explanation, but.."  
  
Vincent stopped short when noticing that Aeris had been standing at the doorway with a deeply troubled look. Both men were standing near the bookcases while Tifa sat nervously on the couch, trying to appear calm.  
  
Vincent suddenly cut the conversation by gruffly turning his back to Cloud. He obviously did not want Aeris to hear this discussion. Cloud, who had his back to her, turned around quizzically.  
  
The silence lasted one full minute, during which Cloud stared at Aeris as if struck by lightning.  
  
Aeris ventured one step into the room, glancing timidly at Cloud, her so-called "friend". He was a tall, slim young man, with a shock of spiky blond hair. She instantly noticed his bright blue eyes which actually gleamed at her. Scratching the back of his head, he looked at Tifa helplessly.  
  
Tifa understood Cloud's meaningful look, and got up from the couch.  
  
"Aeris," she began, clearing her throat, "this is Cloud."  
  
During the awkward silence that followed, Vincent walked to the window with apparent irritation. Keeping his back to all the others, he gazed out the window panes, and did not flinch a muscle. No one noticed him.  
  
Cloud finally extended his hand to Aeris amicably.  
  
"Hi," he greeted with a warm, though nervous smile.  
  
"Hello," answered Aeris, but she didn't extend her hand. She had a foreboding feeling about this meeting.  
  
"Okay," said Tifa, breaking the silence, "Aeris, I bet you're all confused and lost in this mess. So, here's what we'll do..why are you standing? Sit down, please."  
  
Aeris obediently sat down next to Tifa on the couch, while Cloud drew up a chair and leant forward on its back. His eyes betrayed extreme curiosity in what Aeris would say. Vincent, however, mutely refused to budge from his spot by the window, as if this affair bore no significance whatsoever.  
  
"Somethings never change," sighed Tifa, indicating Vincent. She suddenly recalled that strange man who had insisted on knowing Vincent's whereabouts. She thought she should mention it to him later.  
  
"Aeris, now take it nice and easy," said Cloud gently, "First of all, tell us what you remember."  
  
Both Cloud and Tifa stared at Aeris attentively, waiting for her to speak.  
  
"Well," she faltered, "I..I remember the laboratory, and the cell I was locked in, and the Professor."  
  
"Professor?" asked Tifa. Cloud seemed slightly perplexed.  
  
"I don't know how he looks like," continued Aeris, addressing Tifa, "I've never seen him. But, when he drugs me and I'm half-conscious, I can hear his voice...actually, it's more like a hiss."  
  
"And you've never seen him? Never?" demanded Cloud.  
  
"No..it's always dark when he speaks."  
  
"You mentioned that he used to say strange things," added Vincent suddenly, without turning around.  
  
"Yes..," she muttered with downcast eyes, "He said that I'm '  
perfect'...and that I'm 'just like Aeris'. I don't understand anything he says."  
  
Her face darkened as she sunk into deep thought. Cloud glanced significantly at Tifa. Vincent remained stubbornly by the window, oblivious to the heavy silence in the room.  
  
"Go on," Tifa encouraged, "You can tell us."  
  
"I don't remember anymore," Aeris concluded sadly, "That's all I can remember. the Professor wanted to do something to me...something that really hurts me..but, I managed to run away."  
  
"Do you know where you ran from?" asked Cloud.  
  
"Of course not! But, I ran for a very long time, and ran through so many streets, because I was being followed by some men."  
  
"Yes, we know," interrupted Tifa, "Vincent told us how he 'disposed' of them"  
  
Several haunting memories cluttered Aeris' brain at the mention of Vincent's name: the ice-cold sensation she felt when he muffled her mouth with his claw; the ear-splitting gunshots she heard when he ruthlessly killed those men. Even she could not explain why Vincent aroused such fear in her heart. She just did not feel comfortable with him near her.  
  
"Perhaps now," she asked meekly, fidgeting in her seat, "you could tell me about myself?"  
  
Cloud and Tifa exchanged another look. Tifa nodded resolutely to Cloud.  
  
"Very well," he consented firmly.  
  
So, he began telling Aeris all he knew about her. He mentioned her mother,  
both real and foster, and then how they had met and what was said. He talked of ShinRa; what they had hoped to gain out of her, because she was the last "Cetra".  
  
"Now..um..about you death.." continued Cloud uneasily.  
  
"Yes, I want to know about that the most!" Aeris exclaimed.  
  
He carefully explained about Sephiroth, and Jenova, even a bit about his personal past and how he became involved. Finally, he described vividly how Sephiroth stabbed her as she prayed, and how they left her body at the bottom of that clear, blue lake in the Forgotten City.  
  
A heavy silence lingered in the room for a long time; no one dared to break it. Aeris, overwhelmed with this torrent of history about herself,  
sat very still on the couch. Cloud searched intently in Aeris' face for something; some hint that perhaps she vaguely recalled anything. But Aeris merely returned his look with confused eyes: she obviously could not remember any of this.  
  
"It's okay," comforted Tifa kindly, "Just give it time to sink in."  
  
Cloud shuffled out of his chair and walked up to Aeris, crossing his arms solemnly. His face showed a curious mixture of dismay and concern. He bent over Aeris.  
  
While gazing into his glittering eyes, she struggled to remember this man who seemed closer to her than Vincent, Tifa, and everybody else in the world, but nothing! She could not recall ever seeing him before.  
  
"If you're walking among us, Aeris, then how could you not remember any of what I told you? Better yet, how could you be alive in the first place?"  
  
Aeris blinked at him with surprise, but did not utter a word.  
  
"We saw you die, understand? Die! How could you be alive now, but can't even remember our faces? You either came back to life somehow, or you're just some dream..some image."  
  
Aeris fixed her eyes on the floor, ashamed she could not provide any explanation to Cloud. However, Vincent suddenly turned around to face the others, with his bloody-red eyes narrowed sharply in grave contemplation.  
  
"I don't know..," whispered Aeris dejectedly, "all I know is that I will never, ever go back to that laboratory or that Professor."  
  
Everyone was silent. Tifa gently put her arm around Aeris.  
  
"It's a blessing from God I met friends like you," Aeris went on, "You've done so much for me, and are very kind, even though I can't remember any of you. I..I'm sorry I can't help you in return..I just don't remember any of what you've told me."  
  
"Aeris, don't be sorry," Tifa answered, "What matters is that you're safe and well. Believe me, none of us would allow anyone to take you back to that lab. Me, Cloud..," she paused momentarily as she glanced at Vincent,  
"..and Vincent too. We're all your friends!"  
  
Vincent scoffed noiselessly, as if contemptuous of the title "friend".  
  
"Yeah!" added Cloud warmly, "Just relax, Aeris. You're not alone anymore.  
You've got us now."  
  
Aeris looked up with a cheerful smile. A feeling of genuine safety swelled in her heart; with these two trustworthy friends, she could finally live peacefully, far away from the Professor!  
  
And Vincent? Could she trust him like the others?  
  
Although Tifa had assured her Vincent meant no harm, he never failed to arouse intense feelings of anxiety, even fear, in her heart. He seemed too detached, too dispassionate, to even care for Aeris or her "friendship". In fact, Aeris could not erase the notion that perhaps Vincent despised her.  
  
"Well, anyway," began Tifa, "we have to decide where Aeris is gonna stay until this blows over. Aeris, would you rather stay here with Vincent, or come with us?"  
  
"I think she'd better come with us," voiced Cloud confidently, "We run a restaurant, but there's plenty of room on the second floor. We even have an extra bed for her."  
  
Aeris twiddled her thumbs nervously, as if letting Cloud decide for her.  
  
"I..I don't want to trouble anyone..," she muttered.  
  
"Oh, it's no problem at all!" replied Cloud with a laugh, "It would probably be better for Vincent too. he doesn't like people that much."  
  
"Cloud!" whispered Tifa harshly, kicking his shins.  
  
Cloud tried to stifle a cry of pain. Vincent, however, only glanced at him, unruffled by the impudent remark. Turning to Aeris, he skimmed her face, then gave Tifa a meaningful look. Tifa seemed to instantly grasp what he wanted to say.  
  
"Cloud," she said, "I think Aeris should stay here with Vincent."  
  
"Huh? Why?"  
  
Aeris stared at Tifa, greatly distressed.  
  
"Those men that were pursuing her are probably combing every inch of Midgar in search of her," explained Tifa sternly, "and we run a restaurant.  
They could just walk in, dressed in civilian clothes, and recognize her.  
And we wouldn't even know it!!"  
  
" I realize that," protested Cloud," but, I was going to protect her."  
  
"No, she's right," interrupted Aeris, standing up, "I don't want to endanger anybody. Those men may harm you just to catch me...but they won't know where to find me if I stay here...with Vincent.."  
  
Cloud evidently understood her meaning; he reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. Tifa turned uneasily to Vincent. She felt she was forcing all this trouble on him, without even asking his consent! But Vincent made no response to her quizzical look.  
  
"I'm sorry..," Aeris apologized meekly, addressing no one in particular.  
  
Vincent silently brushed past her, and left the room.  
  
All three followed him with their eyes until he walked out, then fidgeted awkwardly. Aeris in particular felt most upset at this turn of events.  
  
"I shouldn't stay here..," she faltered, "I have no right to.."  
  
"Hey, he didn't say anything, right?" smiled Cloud, trying to calm her,"  
If he doesn't speak, it means he doesn't mind."  
  
Cloud hurriedly ran after Vincent, leaving the two girls alone.  
  
"Tifa..," whispered Aeris very softly, "Vincent scares me a bit.."  
  
"Wha?! Why??" cried Tifa with surprise.  
  
"He has such strange eyes...and he's so pale..like a ghost! And..well, he has a claw!! I don't think he likes me at all.."  
  
"Hey, easy!" interrupted Tifa, placing both hands on Aeris' shoulders,  
"Listen: Vincent may be a bit on the dark side, and can be cold sometimes,  
but I know you can trust him. Don't let his appearance fool ya!"  
  
Aeris said nothing, but those words greatly comforted her.  
  
"I'll come visit you again very soon," continued Tifa, "but now, I really have to go home."  
  
When she stepped into the hall, Tifa spotted both men by the main door,  
discussing something with apparent seriousness. As she picked up her coat from the table, she caught some of their conversation.  
  
"So..,"said Cloud in a low voice, "if she needs anything, you be sure to call me and tell me. And fer God's sake, don't scare her with your moody attitude! she's only a girl!"  
  
"I understand," replied Vincent.  
  
"And, if you need anything, like money or.."  
  
"I have money, thank you," answered Vincent gruffly.  
  
"Really?!" exclaimed Cloud, quite astonished, "How? Did you scare a bank or something?"  
  
Vincent turned away in annoyance, trying to suppress a violent outburst.  
  
"I have a job," he muttered forcefully.  
  
"A job?!!" cried Tifa, walking up to them as she put on her coat. The idea obviously never struck either of them that Vincent would actually get a job.  
  
"What do you work as?" she asked, very much interested.  
  
"A gunsmith. I work for a small company in Sector 1"  
  
"Wow," blinked Cloud with unfeigned bewilderment, "Y'know, I always thought you'd go back to that coffin and rot in there. I never would have dreamed you'd get a job, and live here in Midgar.."  
  
Tifa kicked his shins again, which silenced him effectively. She cleared her throat in a business-like air, then faced Vincent.  
  
"So, you'll take care of her for the time being?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And don't upset her like you did last time."  
  
Vincent merely scoffed scornfully.  
  
"Okay," concluded Tifa resolutely, "I'll visit her again. You make sure she's safe. Vincent, please guard her."  
  
Though he nodded dismissively, Tifa knew from his eyes that he would protect Aeris. Dragging Cloud by the arm, she bade goodbye to Vincent, and left.  
  
Vincent mechanically shut the door. As he leant back on the door tiredly,  
his breath rapidly turned to short gasps. Sweat broke out on his pale face.  
  
Suddenly, his head jerked forward, but he covered his mouth firmly and squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders and back throbbed continuously, as if ready to burst any second. He dropped to the ground, but would not remove his hand from his mouth. The throbbing turned to violent shaking; still, he refused to utter a sound.  
  
Aeris peered out from the living room, and started on seeing Vincent  
  
shivering by the door. At first, she thought he was crying, but then noticed red droplets trickle through his fingers and stain the floor. He was, literally, fighting a coughing seizure.  
  
He struggled like that for a long time. Still, some ominous feeling prevented Aeris from going to him. She lingered by the doorway, too afraid to approach him, yet too concerned to leave him.  
  
-End of Part 5  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	4. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp. 6  
  
A whole week flew by since Aeris had first agreed to stay with Vincent.  
Tifa, as promised, dutifully visited her as often as possible, always bringing Cloud with her. Cloud's eyes gleamed with genuine delight whenever he saw Aeris, and the two would talk for an hour or so, laughing all the time. However, Tifa discerned some restrained emotion, some hasty glance,  
some discomfort, in Aeris' movements. Though Aeris quickly reassured her that she " was perfectly well", Tifa internally doubted the sincerity of Aeris. She felt Aeris was hiding something behind her laughter, stubbornly refusing to release it.  
  
"Don't you think Aeris seems kind of...uncomfortable?" Tifa asked Cloud one cold afternoon in late February. They were slowly making their way to Vincent's apartment.  
  
"Hm? No, I think she's quite happy," Cloud replied, "Why? Did Vincent bother her?"  
  
"What are you saying, Cloud?!" cried Tifa, "Vincent's a perfect gentleman!  
He'd never do something like that!"  
  
Which was absolutely correct, according to Aeris. She herself testified that Vincent was "anything but rude". He never entered the bedroom without her permission, even though it was his room to begin with. He bluntly insisted sleeping on the couch so that Aeris could have the bed. He even emptied parts of his closet for Aeris' clothes and belongings, which Tifa generously provided. At exactly six o'clock for in the morning, he'd leave Aeris alone in the apartment, and return around five o'clock in the evening; ten o'clock if he had a nightshift.  
  
Despite his chivalrous conduct, he rarely spoke to Aeris. Whenever she chanced upon him, he was either engrossed in some book or repairing a gun.  
his face expressed such coldness and thoughtfulness, Aeris failed to muster enough courage to even sit with him in the same room. In short, she tried her hardest to avoid him out of some ambiguous fear; and he ignored her out of cold-heartedness, or so Aeris guessed.  
  
Therefore, by the end of the week, Aeris had learned a great deal about Tifa and Cloud; they loved to talk to her about anything. often times,  
Cloud would speak of past adventures, strange creatures, and distant lands.  
Tifa would describe the Avalanche members with lively animation. All three would burst out laughing whenever she imitated Cait Sith's voice, or Cid's "unique" expressions.  
  
Not surprisingly, Aeris grew extremely close to her two new friends.  
Sometimes, she'd forget that she had "amnesia" or "had been dead", and acted as though she had known them for a long time.  
  
On the other hand, Aeris did not know much about Vincent. Cloud had once whispered to her that "he was a Turk", expecting her to in instantly grasp the significance. she did not understand what he meant, so she turned to Tifa. However, Tifa merely shrugged her shoulders, as if to say "who knew?". Aeris thought it strange how both Cloud and Tifa claimed to be Vincent's friends, when neither knew one definite fact about his past.  
  
She wanted to ask Vincent directly, but, of course, apprehension gripped her heart, and she promptly abandoned her idea. Eventually, Aeris lost interest, and simply forgot.  
  
However, Aeris could not help but wonder at him whenever Cloud and Tifa came to visit. He would retreat to some inconspicuous corner and read a book, showing no interest in Cloud's anecdotes or Tifa's amusing impressions. The two guests seemed quite used to his attitude; they talked and laughed freely in his presence, as if he weren't there at all.  
  
But Aeris glanced at him uneasily from time to time. The contrast between him and her vivacious friends stung her heart to the core.  
  
I wonder why he's always so gloomy..so preoccupied! Aeris wondered.  
  
"What's wrong, Aeris?" laughed Cloud, "Didn't you like the joke?"  
  
"Huh? Oh no!" she immediately answered, though she didn't listen when the joke was said. She had been too busy with her reflections.  
  
"Oh, Cloud!" scolded Tifa amusedly, "you're jokes are all so lame! No wonder she didn't laugh!"  
  
At around three o'clock, one week since Aeris had agreed to live with Vincent, the merry threesome were comfortably seated around a coffee table in the living room. Vincent, as usual, occupied his corner by the window,  
and read indifferently. A tray with four mugs and a plate of pastries were neatly placed on the coffee table. Tifa had bought the cakes from a nearby bakery as "a little treat for everyone".  
  
Actually, she had bought them for Vincent in particular; she wanted to pay him back somehow for taking care of Aeris. Much to her dismay, Vincent didn't express much delight with the pastries.  
  
"Hey, Vincent man!" called Cloud, stuffing his mouth with another cake,  
"You sure you don't want one? They're really good!"  
  
Vincent silently flipped the page of his book without even raising his eyes.  
  
"Okay, suit yourself," answered Cloud, as if Vincent had replied. He greedily ate another cake with good humor.  
  
"Cloud, you're such a glutton!" giggled Aeris.  
  
"Hey, Cloud!" frowned Tifa, snatching the plate of pastries away, "You'll spoil your dinner! Save some for later".  
  
"Oh, sorry...," apologized Cloud as he scratched the back of his head, "I forgot you were cooking dinner tonight, Tifa".  
  
Indeed, Tifa, after many entreaties, had persuaded Vincent into allowing her to make dinner that night for everyone. As mentioned before, Tifa had harshly accepted the full responsibility of Vincent's "situation".;  
Forgetting that it was he who had indirectly suggested the idea in the first place, Tifa felt she had forced Vincent to care for Aeris, and was determined to repay his kindness somehow, whether he liked it or not.  
  
Therefore, she had insisted on cooking the dinner, and still more forcefully, insisted Vincent eat with them.  
  
"As you wish," he had sighed.  
  
"Speaking of dinner, we should get going," commented Cloud, getting up lazily from his seat, "We still have to buy all the ingredients".  
  
"Right," agreed Tifa, rising as well, "Aeris, go get your coat."  
  
"Okay, don't leave without me," she beamed delightedly. She sprang out of her seat and ran to fetch her coat.  
  
"Um...Tifa," whispered Cloud after she left, "are you sure we should take her with us?"  
  
"Why not?" she asked in puzzlement, almost in alarm.  
  
"Well, what if those men find her?"  
  
Tifa was thoughtful for a couple of moments. She glanced suspiciously at Vincent, but he seemed oblivious to their conversation.  
  
"It'll be all right," reassured Tifa, "I'll watch her closely. Besides,  
those goons have probably given up by now. And poor Aeris could use some fresh air."  
  
"Heh, and if they do show up, you'll probably whoop their butts before they have a chance to attack."  
  
"Huh!" she snorted, delighted with the remark, "You know how I feel about people who push me around..especially men!"  
  
Cloud smiled lovingly at her, then both began sniggering like little children.  
  
Their amusement was abruptly cut short when Vincent slammed his book shut and stood up. Both turned to him, expecting him to speak. As he silently placed the book on the shelf, he happened to catch Tifa's eyes. She immediately detected a flash in his eyes; he had obviously been pondering something.  
  
Does he think Aeris' shopping with us a bad idea? wondered Tifa.  
  
instead of speaking, Vincent sullenly walked towards the door. He nearly knocked Aeris down as she came rushing through excitedly, but he grabbed her firmly before she could fall.  
  
"Oh..thank you, Vincent," Aeris mumbled in embarrassment.  
  
After he left the living room, the three stood for a moment, lost in though.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" inquired Cloud.  
  
"I don't know..he seems irritated," answered Tifa.  
  
Aeris silently tied her scarf around her neck. She wondered if Vincent had this feeling..this presentiment about her going out. Aeris had felt similarly too at first, but had shrugged it off, assuming she was just nervous about leaving the apartment.  
  
"He's thinking about something," Tifa scowled, "but he's not telling us."  
  
"I'm sure it's nothing your delicious dinner can't fix," laughed Cloud,  
trying to restore the liveliness of the girls, "You know him! He's always moody like this. Nothing to worry about. Right Aeris?"  
  
"Uh..yes!" she instantly agreed, attempting to conceal her anxiety.  
  
"There, see?" said Cloud, looking at Tifa.  
  
"I guess so," she faintly muttered.  
  
"So, let's go already!" cried Cloud, playfully pulling Tifa to the door.  
  
"Ah! Careful!" she giggled.  
  
Aeris, however, plunged into deep thoughtfulness. She remained standing in the room, lost in an ocean of meditation, but could not formulate one thought.  
  
"Aeris!" called Cloud, "C'mon! we're leaving!"  
  
"Oh, I'm coming!" she answered, and ran after them.  
  
Though the air was crisp that afternoon, Midgar apparently braced itself for rain. The grey clouds gradually blanketed the sky, barring the sunlight from entry. Nevertheless, the streets brimmed with people hurrying to and fro. The shops and boutiques eagerly flung their doors wide open to welcome any customer. The cafes were teaming with people enjoying their coffee break.  
  
All sorts of sounds filled the air: from the hushed murmur of passing businessmen to the delightful squeal of children; the incoherent mumbles of a senile beggar, and the shouts of teenagers calling each other. The city throbbed with life.  
  
Aeris, quite fascinated with the city, constantly turned her head from side to side so as to catch every detail. Tifa and Cloud looked at her amusedly and answered whatever questions she had about Midgar.  
  
"Cloud, what's that building?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, that's a branch of the new government. The Department of Foreign Affairs, I think."  
  
"It's so big!" she marveled.  
  
"She's like a little kid," winked Cloud as he nudged Tifa.  
  
when they turned around a corner, an old, wan-faced woman with a beaten flower basket staggered up to them.  
  
"Would the pretty lass like a flower?" she asked, holding a bright pink flower to Aeris.  
  
"Oh! How beautiful!" cried Aeris, taking the flower instantly. Her entire face beamed with delight as she studied the flower. She looked at Cloud imploringly.  
  
"Yeah, sure," mumbled Cloud, fumbling for his wallet, "Give the other girl a flower too."  
  
"Heh heh, Cloud, you're so sweet," snickered Tifa at his embarrassment.  
  
"Y'know it's funny," exclaimed Cloud as they resumed their way.  
  
"What's funny?" asked Aeris, looking up at him.  
  
"Before..um..before you had amnesia, you used to adore flowers. In fact,  
you were a flower girl yourself."  
  
"Was I?" she smiled in wonder.  
  
"yup. And it's funny how you don't remember anything about your past, but remember that you love flowers."  
  
"Flowers carry so many meanings," she answered mysteriously, "They symbolize life, and love, and beauty."  
  
"Hard things to find in the dead of winter," commented Tifa.  
  
"Oh, you can find them in the winter, if you look hard enough."  
  
"Yeah, whatever," mumbled Cloud, completely baffled by Aeris' meaning.  
Tifa smiled faintly as she took his strong arm and leaned her head on his shoulder as they strolled along.  
  
"Well, this is where I bid you girls a temporary adieu," Cloud said after a few steps.  
  
"Where are you going?" asked Aeris curiously.  
  
"Cloud has to go to Sector 4 and buy us some special spices for tonight's dinner," Tifa explained, "It'll save us time if we split up. We girls will shop here, and Cloud will go get the spices."  
  
"Heh heh..can he be trusted?" snickered Aeris.  
  
"Oh ho! So, little Miss Aeris doubts Cloud Strife's abilities, eh?" he retorted with a laugh, "You forget, I run a restaurant."  
  
"No, Cloud," corrected Tifa, "You clean it. I run it."  
  
The two girls burst out laughing while Cloud flushed crimson with anger.  
Bur after a moment, he joined them in good humor, as if nothing had happened.  
  
"Okay, Cloud," interrupted Tifa,"You'd better go now, before it starts to rain."  
  
"Sure thing. Meet you two back at Vincent's place."  
  
They quickly exchanged a kiss, and Cloud rushed across the street before  
  
the traffic light turned green again. Soon, he disappeared.  
  
"C'mon," said Tifa to Aeris, "Let's go."  
  
The two girls quietly walked along the boulevard. A strange silence sprung up between them. Tifa, it was true, had sent Cloud away to fetch the spices, but more importantly, she wanted to speak to Aeris alone; woman to woman. She knew some problem oppressed Aeris' heart, and was determined to discover it.  
  
they finally reached a gigantic building which languidly stretched itself along the entire street. Aeris read the large sign "Midgar Supermarket"  
erected neatly on top of the automatic doors.  
  
"Big place!" exclaimed Aeris, completely in awe.  
  
"Hm.." muttered Tifa, half-listening.  
  
As she grabbed a shopping cart, Tifa glanced uneasily at Aeris, unsure how to start the conversation. She pushed the cart along the orderly isles.  
When she made sure nobody was within hearing distance, she stopped short.  
  
"Aeris," she began, "Are you..okay?"  
  
"Yes, Tifa, I'm fine," Aeris looked at her oddly.  
  
"No, I mean...do you feel..uncomfortable?"  
  
Aeris shook her head, but obviously did not understand Tifa's meaning.  
  
"Aeris," whispered Tifa for some reason, " Do you feel...uncomfortable with Vincent around you?"  
  
Aeris looked away to avoid Tifa's searching eyes.  
  
"C'mon, you can tell me," persisted Tifa gently, "I can tell some problem is weighing you down. I don't want to intrude on you like this, but I'm just so worried about you. Is Vincent..."  
  
She broke off with a vague gesture of her hand, not knowing how to finish her sentence. Aeris still looked away, but Tifa could tell she was on the brink of revealing something.  
  
"Tifa," she blurted out quietly, "I think Vincent..really..hates me."  
  
"Aeris, we've been through this before, and I told you.."  
  
"No, no, you don't understand," Aeris cut her short as she turned around suddenly, "He's very polite, and probably the best mannered man I'll ever meet. I won't deny that. But..but.."  
  
"But?" Tifa asked, extremely alarmed.  
  
"I don't think he looks after me out of kindness..It doesn't come from his heart. It's like, he feels it's his duty to care for me."  
  
"But..how does he hate you?"  
  
"I don't know..I don't know. But I just feel as if he sees something through me..and hates me for it...like I'm inferior somehow.."  
  
Tifa studied Aeris' pitiful face. This had obviously been causing her a great deal of stress.  
  
"Aeris," she finally replied with some sternness, "I think you're just paranoid!"  
  
Aeris blinked at her in astonishment.  
  
"If Vincent 'hated' you, then why did he shoot those men to save you?  
Isn't that what he did when he first met you?"  
  
"Tifa..you don't understand me.."  
  
"Then explain, for God's sake!"  
  
"He..he's not like Cloud..," Aeris muttered dreamily.  
  
This time, Tifa was astonished.  
  
"What do you mean 'not like Cloud'?" she demanded. A strange yet familiar feeling pricked her heart again.  
  
"Cloud..well..," Aeris faltered, "Cloud is simple to see through. You can tell when he's happy, or angry; and it's easy to guess what he's thinking."  
  
"And Vincent?"  
  
"Vincent is cold-hearted..stoic..and unresponsive. I feel very awkward..and frightened when he comes near me. He sees something in me that he hates...and it's the way he hates me that scares me so much, Tifa."  
  
As Aeris finished, Tifa softened her look and was silent for some minutes.  
She understood, at least partially, Aeris' fear : She believed Vincent discerned something horrible in her, and deplored her for it.  
  
Tifa gently patted her friend's shoulder and, smiling reassuredly, said "We'd better finish quickly before it rains."  
  
The tower bell tolled four times when both girls emerged from the supermarket, each carrying a brown grocery bag. The streets had emptied slightly, but still retained a great deal of liveliness. By the time they had reached the city square, the lamp posts along the pathway had already lighted up; it was getting dark quickly. Occasionally, a faint rumble of thunder echoed across the city, warning everyone of heavy rain. Tifa,  
however, seemed unconcerned with the weather. She wanted to tell Aeris something.  
  
"Aeris," she started, grabbing her shoulder to stop her, "I think you misunderstand Vincent."  
  
Aeris turned to face Tifa, expecting her to say more.  
  
"Vincent..well..," Tifa faltered, "Vincent has been through a lot. He never mentioned this, but I think he feels guilty about something, and it tends to weigh him down at times."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I don't know..Vincent's a master when it comes to hiding his emotions..but when we first met him about a year ago, he was obsessed with this woman called 'Lucrecia'"  
  
"'Lucrecia'?"  
  
"And you could just feel the bitterness and guilt gnaw at his heart, even though he never mentioned her again. I..I'm telling you this, Aeris, so you can see that Vincent carries a lot of sorrow in his heart.."  
  
Aeris was silent.  
  
"And..," continued Tifa nervously, " I don't think he hates you. I just think he sees something in you that...that he sees in himself too..like you both share the same burden somehow. Aw, Geez! I can't explain this very well!"  
  
Tifa stamped her foot in irritation; even she wasn't sure she understood Vincent. Aeris silently stared at the cobblestones on the ground,  
  
completely oblivious to the people around her.  
  
"Tifa," she suddenly asked, "Is Vincent sick because of his claw?"  
  
"What? Is he sick of his claw?" Tifa looked at he oddly.  
  
"No..does the claw make him sick?"  
  
"Um..it shouldn't. At least, not when I met him. Why? What's the matter?!"  
  
"I..," stammered Aeris, "I think Vincent is very sick. At first I thought his claw perhaps made him sick. But now, perhaps this 'guilt'.."  
  
"What do you mean by 'sick'?" interrupted Tifa in alarm, "Sick as in ill?"  
  
Aeris wanted to tell her about his coughing fits that constantly plagued him. During the past week, she had caught him fighting at least five seizures, and that was just at home!  
  
She wanted to describe how violently his whole body shook with pain; how much blood trickled through his hand when he struggled to cover his mouth.  
All that and so much more!  
  
But she had read in his cold eyes that he knew she had seen him in a coughing fit. And though he never talked to her, Aeris understood he did not want the others to know of his seizures. But now it felt as if the words poured out of her mouth involuntarily.  
  
"He's..he's..." Aeris finally faltered.  
  
But a foreboding feeling suddenly pierced her heart so violently, she actually sprang away from Tifa in alarm. All sound around her disintegrated into oblivion; she could not even hear Tifa calling her name; but the loud pounding of her heart mercilessly beat against her ears.  
  
Her grocery bag fell out of her numb hands, crashing onto the pavement and scattering all its contents about. However, Aeris seemed totally unaware of her surroundings. She detected some evil presence near her..some "thing"  
that reeked with malice.  
  
"Aeris! Aeris!" called Tifa anxiously. She shook the girl's shoulders.  
  
Aeris turned aggressively to Tifa, as if she had never seen her before.  
Tifa started on seeing the wild, frenzied flash in Aeris' eyes. Her gasps became quite loud and perspiration broke out on her pale face. Some passers-by glanced at her oddly, then hurried away, thinking she was mad.  
  
"Aeris! what's wrong?!" cried Tifa.  
  
"T..Tifa...," she struggled confusedly, "..the..they're here..they've found me!"  
  
"What? What are you saying?!"  
  
Faceless people rushed past Aeris. So many incoherent sounds drummed against her ears. Bright colors and irregular shapes swirled about her like whirlpool. She felt faint and nauseated, as if someone were wringing her soul. But her eyes suddenly caught sight of someone, and everything froze in its place.  
  
She stared at a tall man with pure snow-white hair and gleaming pink eyes.  
He gazed mockingly at her from across the street. He held a lighted cigarette to his mouth in such a way that only his eyes peered over his hand. Aeris felt his cold eyes drill straight into her heart.  
  
When he finally removed his cigarette form his mouth, he blew out a puff of smoke, then smiled affably at Aeris, as though he were a close friend of hers.  
  
Aeris' feet turned cold and heavy at the smile. Her thoughts chased each other around in her brain, refusing to settle down, until something inside her screamed: escape!  
  
Before she realized it, Aeris found herself frantically tearing through the crowds of people, desperately trying to run away.  
  
"AERIS!! AERIS!!" screamed Tifa. She ran after her as fast as she could,  
but Aeris vanished in the crowd without a trace.  
  
Completely thunderstruck, Tifa stood in the middle of the street. Her muddled thoughts overwhelmed her and clouded her mind. She had, literally,  
no idea what to do.  
  
Then, as if possessed by a demon, Tifa suddenly dashed across the busy street. Several cars screeched to a halt and rudely honked at her.  
  
"Hey! Watch it! shouted one man from his car.  
  
But she only doubled her speed as she rushed down the pavement, savagely yelling "excuse me!" or "make way!". She raced past shops, people, and streets with one thought: she must reach Vincent's apartment! She did not understand why Aeris ran off so suddenly, as if she had seen a ghost, but she must have run back to Vincent's place! Where else could she possibly go?  
  
Thus argued Tifa, until she realized she was flying up the stairs of the apartment.  
  
On reaching Vincent's door, she tried to open it, but the knob only gave a stiff rattle. It was locked.  
  
"Vincent!!" she shouted, pounding the door furiously with her fist, "VINCENT!"  
  
No reply.  
  
"Aw, shit!" she swore. She retreated two steps then rammed the door down with her shoulder. The door instantly broke open and she staggered in,  
breathless with irritation.  
  
"VINCENT!!!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.  
  
But only an echo answered her cry. Apparently, no one was home. The silence suffocated Tifa beyond endurance. Not only was Aeris not there, but Vincent was missing as well!  
  
"Damn it!!" she cursed aloud.  
  
She heard a faint scuffle of boots behind her, so she turned around sharply. Much to her relief, Vincent stood in the doorway with a package in one hand. He blinked incredulously at Tifa, then at the broken door that hung piteously by one hinge in the hall.  
  
"Where the Hell were you?!" Tifa cried in anger.  
  
"I..I went to the post office to get the book I ordered," he faltered,  
taken aback by her viciousness, "Tifa..what's wrong?"  
  
"Vincent," she gasped, "A..Aeris ran off!!"  
  
He narrowed his keen eyes, but said nothing.  
  
"I don't know what happened!" she continued, "We were walking along, and she was fine! Cloud even bought her a flower! And then..then.."  
  
"Easy, take it easy," He said calmly.  
  
"Then she goes ballistic!! She looks around like someone's gonna kill her..and she mutters something, then runs off!"  
  
"What did she say?"  
  
"I dunno!!" she snapped back, irritated with his coolness, "She said something like 'they've found me'. She looked around, then lost her mind!"  
  
"Where did this happen?"  
  
"At the City Square."  
  
"Which direction did she run in?"  
  
"Ah? I think she ran to the North side of the sector."  
  
Vincent plunged into gloomy silence for some moments, knitting his brows in deep contemplation. He seemed to be debating something in his brain.  
  
"I ran after her," Tifa went on, "but she disappeared! I thought perhaps she came back.."  
  
But Vincent suddenly flung his package away and rushed out of the door,  
not waiting a moment longer.  
  
"Vincent!" Tifa cried after him, "Where are you going?!!"  
  
She after him anxiously, but he had already cleared the stairs and left the building.  
  
Tifa was silent for some minutes before she returned to the apartment. She examined her "handiwork" on the wretched door, then blushed slightly.  
  
"Great," she grumbled, "I get excited, and Vincent's door gets the heat!"  
  
Tifa rubbed her temples to soothe her aching head, but the last few events had left her in complete shock. A sudden clap of thunder outside startled her. She dragged her tired feet to the window in the living room, and gazed dejectedly at the rain patter against the glass panes.  
  
"It's really coming down now," she mumbled softly.  
  
-End of part 6  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	5. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp. 7  
  
I must get away, Aeris screamed internally, I must!  
  
The rain poured down like a waterfall, beating pitilessly on the ground,  
but she only rushed through the wet streets to escape. Escape...to where?  
  
She had no clear idea; she only wanted to run away from that "evil man".  
  
The streets twisted and wound around like an endless maze. What was just moments ago a fascinating city to the poor girl became an insufferable cage, and she longed to hide somewhere.  
  
Somewhere away, she gasped, far away from the Professor.  
  
People scurried about the streets, hoping to dodge the torrential rain.  
With every crack of thunder, the sky lit up brilliantly to display the chaos it had so cruelly created on the ground.  
  
Aeris, however, raced past those people, heedless of thunder or rain. She did not notice that her hair and face were drenched with water. But her soaked clothes greatly annoyed her. They seemed to hinder her speed with their heavy weight.  
  
Several passers-by actually sprang out of the way as she zoomed past them in a frenzy. She accidentally knocked down an old woman, but did not even look back to apologize. Indeed, she seemed oblivious to her surroundings.  
  
"Hey! Watch it, brat!!" shouted one pedestrian as he helped the poor,  
distraught lady to her feet.  
  
But Aeris did not, could not, hear anything. her muddled senses wrapped her in utter confusion: sounds had no meaning to her; objects failed to take a familiar shape. And the faster she ran past them, the more they cluttered her brain.  
  
She did not know how long she had been running. So many alleys and unfamiliar streets rushed past her, that by then, she did not care where she went. Her feet ran of their own accord, turning in any direction they pleased.  
  
She raced down some narrow street in a dingy, unfamiliar neighborhood.  
Gasping for breath, she wanted to stop and rest her feet. But the terrible thought of being caught by that man not only discouraged her, but caused her to increase her speed to a mad rush.  
  
She didn't stop until she suddenly felt herself stumble against someone and crash into the ground. her whole body skidded forward on the pavement.  
When finally stopping, she lay on the ground lifelessly, as though  
  
unconscious.  
  
"Oh, shit!" cursed a voice in alarm, "Hey! Missy! Are you okay?!"  
  
"Alex, what the Hell's going on?" boomed another voice.  
  
"This crazy girl just ran into me, Mr. Darcy! And then tripped! I swear!"  
replied the voice defensively.  
  
"My God! She's absolutely drenched! Hey, Sweetheart! Are you hurt?"  
  
Aeris, lying with her back to the two men, finally came around. She struggled to get up, but her shoulder throbbed with such unbearable pain,  
tears welled up in her eyes. Apparently, she had crashed on her side, and now her shoulder was paying the full price of the fall.  
  
With a faint cry, she finally managed to sit up from the ground. Much to her surprise, she found herself by some obscure cafe in a totally strange street. She blinked confusedly at the two men who looked over her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.  
  
She also noticed that the thunder had ceased, and the heavy rain had turned into a dull drizzle.  
  
"Thank God! She's all right!" sighed Alex in relief.  
  
He was young fresh-faced man. Judging from his attire, Aeris guessed him to be a waiter in the cafe. Indeed, he had been stacking some chairs outside the cafe for closing time when Aeris had crashed into him.  
  
"That was a nasty fall you took there, Honey. Are you sure you're not hurt?" asked Mr. Darcy, a fat, short man of fifty. he was obviously the cafe's manager and the waiter's boss.  
  
Aeris strained every nerve to understand the two men, yet could not grasp a word of what they said, as if they spoke a foreign language.  
  
Mr. Darcy noticed her puzzlement. Stepping closer to her, her studied her haggard face. Aeris stared at him hallow-eyed.  
  
"I think she's mad," he muttered to the young waiter, who immediately felt pity for the hapless girl.  
  
"Are you lost, Miss?" Alex, the waiter, asked compassionately.  
  
"Where do you live, darling?" inquired Mr. Darcy with a gentle, fatherly smile, "Do you have someone who looks after you?  
  
The words "after you" echoed in Aeris' distressed mind, until she finally remembered why she was running :yes! That man is after me! I must escape!!  
  
She scuffled to her feet as though Mr. Darcy had just threatened her life.  
Before either man could react, Aeris suddenly darted away from them and ducked into a dismal alley.  
  
A car nearly hit Vincent as rushed across the busy street, but he dodged it indifferently and continued to run. This was the third time he had searched the main street, but could not find one trace of Aeris. he had spent the last hour and a half searching for her in the pouring rain, so his long, thick hair dripped with water. His heavy, unbuttoned overcoat flapped with every gust of cold wind. It was drenched as well.  
  
Some people thought him a sort of criminal or fugitive, judging from the way he ran about, turning his head from side to side in search of something.  
  
He thought perhaps he should examine the northern boulevard again, but realized he had already searched that part at least twice in the last half hour. So, he decided to take any random alley instead.  
  
He trotted aimlessly through the filthy streets, hoping to perhaps find the girl hiding in some corner. He soon emerged into the northern slums of Sector 3, notorious for its crime and poverty.  
  
Though some ragged beggars glared at Vincent suspiciously because he was an "outsider", no one dared confront him. They too guessed him to be some criminal on the run.  
  
Vincent suddenly felt his chest heave slightly as perspiration broke out on his face, but he angrily refused to have a coughing fit; he gritted his teeth determinately to suppress it.  
  
Not here, he growled, not now!  
  
He wandered around the slums, scrutinizing every face he met. Though he managed to somehow soothe his chest, a dull ache pinched his lungs with every breath he took.  
  
The drizzle from the sky quickly changed to icy-cold sleet which eagerly washed the pavement of its impurities. Vincent, stopping short, looked up at the grey sky, as if it would tell him where to find Aeris.  
  
He sighed tiredly. Confident that the girl wasn't there, Vincent cleared the slums and drifted dejectedly into a less dirty alley.  
  
Two and a half hours of searching, and not one single trace of that girl!  
where did she go? he wondered.  
  
As if answering his question, Vincent felt a soft object under his boot.  
On lifting his foot, he noticed a pink flower horribly crushed on the wet ground.  
  
strange to say, the flower greatly interested Vincent. He cautiously picked it up and examined it: the petals were dirty and torn, thanks to his boot; its slender stem was cruelly broken as well  
  
As he twisted the delicate flower with his fingers, he suddenly recalled something Tifa had told him before he left:  
  
"Cloud even bought her a flower," she had said.  
  
Vincent looked around once, then spotted a small cafe humbly standing a few yards away. It was the same cafe Aeris had passed an hour ago.  
  
Alex, the young waiter, whistled as he emerged from the cafe and began dutifully locking the door behind him.  
  
"You!" called Vincent, startling the waiter.  
  
"Ah!!!! Y..yes?" stammered Alex fearfully. Vincent's tall, menacing appearance and glaring eyes greatly frightened the poor waiter. he thought he might be a killer of some sort.  
  
"Did a young girl pass by here? She had long, brown hair...and was wearing a blue coat with a scarf."  
  
"Um...yeah..she did, Sir," replied Alex nervously but quite respectfully.  
he had a feeling that Vincent wasn't the type of person he'd want to irritate.  
  
"Which way did she go?"  
  
"Th..that way, Sir," he answered, pointing down the street, "She dodged into that alley over there. We tried talking to her, but she seemed a bit nuts, and ran off."  
  
"I see. Thank you."  
  
Vincent quickly ran in that direction and turned in the specified alley,  
leaving Alex completely bewildered and confused.  
  
Aeris collapsed onto the muddy ground, totally breathless. She had grown so weary with running, her lungs felt as if they would burst any minute.  
Her body shuddered as the sleet mercilessly pierced her face like sharp daggers. Though she wanted to continue running, her whole body would not budge an inch more. Her injured shoulder ached horribly, and her eyes burned with fatigue.  
  
When she finally caught her breath, she slowly stood up and looked around herself, wondering where she was.  
  
Despite the darkness, Aeris could see she had reached some abandoned site. a colossal building proudly stood towering against the sky, ruined and in utter desolation. Its windows were all ruthlessly shattered; scraps of rusty metal stubbornly clung to the remains of the framework. It was a miracle this corroded building stood at all.  
  
The building itself seemed to have been brutally torn out of its foundations and hurled against the ground. Debris and rubble littered the entire site; some even formed mountains of metal, stone, and other pieces of garbage.  
  
Aeris discerned, besides all the obscene graffiti, a giant red sign painted impressively on the facade of this pathetic building. However, it was so worn and whether beaten, she only managed to make out the word "Shin.." before giving up.  
  
Aeris trudged over to this building, staring with peculiar interest at the huge pipes that were emitted out of it and sunk into the muddy ground. She touched the crumbling wall gently, then suddenly burst into bitter tears.  
  
She cried because she knew she could never escape. No matter where she ran or hid, the Professor would always find her and capture her. Yes, she knew that man with white hair worked for him; she understood that from his dreadful smile. He'd hunt her down, like some animal, and return her to the Professor.  
  
She pressed her forehead against the cold wall, biting her lower lip to stop crying, but the hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook with agitation.  
  
Aeris felt a hand gently touch her arm.  
  
With a scream, she instantly smacked it away and turned around in alarm.  
  
"Whoa! Whoa! It's me!" said Vincent, trying to calm her.  
  
she stared at him wild-eyed for a full minute . It occurred to Vincent that maybe Aeris had really lost her mind. She did not appear to remember him at all.  
  
"V...Vincent..," she whispered, finally recognizing him.  
  
There was another awkward silence in which Aeris gazed at him amazedly, as if he had dropped out of the sky. the truth was, Vincent had simply followed the path of the alley, down the main avenue, and reached the old ShinRa Headquarters, or the "ShinRa Haunt" as everyone called it. He had found Aeris sobbing against the wall of the building, and had approached her from behind.  
  
"W..what are you doing here?!" she cried with inexplicable anger. His very presence vexed her beyond endurance.  
  
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he replied softly, "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
She started at the question, but avoided his eyes by turning her head away. She was obstinately silent.  
  
"Aeris," he repeated insistently, "where are you going?"  
  
"Vincent, please...leave me alone," she begged piteously, "Just go away."  
  
"I'm not leaving unless you come with me."  
  
"I don't want to go with you!! I have to keep on running!!"  
  
"'Run' Aeris?" he asked sarcastically, "Run where?"  
  
"I don't know!" she sobbed distressfully, "I don't know! But I must escape! Don't you understand?! he's found me! If he catches me now, he'll torture me again! I'd rather die than go back to that damn Professor!  
Can't you see that?!!"  
  
She glared at him contemptuously. Some strange hatred swelled in her heart.  
  
"I understand," he answered gently, "but I don't see how running away will help you."  
  
Aeris did not utter a word.  
  
"Aeris, I know you're scared," he continued, "but you can't just run away and expect this Professor to disappear. you know that if you run away,  
he'll only catch you."  
  
Aeris felt her heart pound frantically as he took one step closer to her.  
his eyes were fixed on her face, but she dared not look at him.  
  
"Now, Aeris, please. Give me you hand."  
  
He extended his hand out to her and stared at her solemnly.  
  
"Just trust me," he added imploringly.  
  
She gazed at his gloved hand as if it were a poisonous snake. She suddenly sprang away from him, wringing her hands in anguish.  
  
"You don't..you can't understand me!" she shouted angrily, "You're just a cold-hearted bastard!! you're no better than that Professor!!"  
  
Vincent gazed at her thoughtfully, not at all ruffled by the insults, but his eyes seemed to grow sterner with every word she uttered.  
  
"You know damn well," she raved, "that if I stay, he'll catch me! You know it! But you don't care, do you?! No, of course not Vincent! How could you care? How could you understand?!"  
  
She covered her face with both her hands and tried desperately to control her agitated nerves. Vincent made no movement towards her and said nothing.  
For a full minute, only the patter of rain against the deserted ShinRa building filled the air. Neither spoke a word.  
  
"Do you know..," she began with a quivering voice, "do you know how it feels like to be in pain? Not that petty pain you feel for an hour..not a day..no. It's this horrible agony that tugs at your body non-stop."  
  
She clasped both her hands over her breast and shut her eyes tight. she seemed to be addressing herself more than Vincent.  
  
"Everyday, every hour, to have to lie on a cold dissection table..with wires and needles pricking at you. And all these bleeping machines watching over you like some security guards."  
  
She suddenly opened her eyes and looked at Vincent, but she didn't seem to see really see him. Her sorrowful eyes fixed their gaze on some invisible object beyond him.  
  
"And the pain you feel in your body!" Aeris exclaimed fervently, "It seems to tear your whole body to shreds from inside. So much that you'd gladly sell your soul to the devil just to stop it."  
  
Aeris hung her head shamefully, but kept her hands clasped. Vincent was silent for some minutes before he took a step near her. She instantly became aware of him, and glared at him mockingly.  
  
"You don't know that pain, Vincent," she scoffed as she slowly edged away from him, "You don't know what it feels like to be treated like that..like some pathetic laboratory animal. Don't pretend you understand what I'm saying, liar!"  
  
She turned to run away, but Vincent suddenly pounced on her and gripped both her arms so forcefully, Aeris cried out in pain. He swung her around to face him, then roughly slammed her back against the wall, still holding her firmly.  
  
Aeris thought he intended to strike or shout at her, but he only peered at her face with a stern look.  
  
"Now you listen to me, little girl," he muttered in a surprisingly calm voice, "Don't you dare claim to know what I understand and what I don't."  
  
Aeris struggled to break out of his iron grip, but to no avail. his metal claw felt like it would crush her bones any second; and he held her so closely against the wall, she could not hope to escape.  
  
"Aeris," he continued coolly, "I know how you feel. Believe me, I understand. probably even better than you do."  
  
Aeris stubbornly turned her face away from him, refusing to even listen.  
  
"Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you!" he demanded sternly. He gripped her chin with his hand and forced her to look up at him.  
  
She stared at his glowing ruby-red eyes. Several strands of his black, wet hair dangled infront of his pale face, but failed to obscure the brilliance of his eyes. Though he kept his hand under her chin, he loosened his hold on her arm slightly.  
  
"I know how it feels like to be an experiment. When you say you feel tormented and in pain, believe me, I know what kind of pain you're talking about. I've been on a dissection table too; I've had needles and wires hooked onto me. Aeris, I've even had a professor torment me in my nightmares."  
  
She made no response.  
  
"How do you suppose I got this claw?" he asked, flashing his claw infront of her face, "How do you suppose I have red eyes and look like this?"  
  
Aeris held her breath as he brought his face closer to hers and gazed solemnly into her eyes.  
  
"You may not accept this," he said in a low voice, "but I understand you better than Tifa and Cloud. I understand why you want to escape from that Professor, because once I tried the same thing too. I understand why you hate that professor, Aeris, and why you feel so frustrated and frightened. I felt those same emotions too, and even worse ones. Do you hear me?"  
  
She could feel her breath quicken. her heart pounded so loudly, it numbed he ears.  
  
"And I know that running away won't save you," he concluded," I know because I tried it once. He'll haunt your days and nights, until you'll become obsessed with him, or even worse: you'll become obsessed with the pain and bitterness he caused you."  
  
Aeris looked up at him. His eyes seemed strangely feverish as he stared at her. Though the rain came pouring down, she could see he was struggling internally with something.  
  
"Why should you care for me, Vincent?" she scowled finally," I'm not even worth a finger nail in your eyes. You hate me."  
  
"I don't hate you, Aeris."  
  
"Yes, you do! You see something inside of me, and despise me! You think I'm blind? You think I can't see all that hate in your eyes?"  
  
"That's not hate," he answered with restraint, "That's concern. I see that you'll end up as mentally shattered as I am if you don't face your fears instead of running away. I was very much like you, but I ran away and hid in a coffin. A coffin, Aeris, a coffin for 30 long, torturous years! I don't want to see you end up like I did."  
  
"Liar! Liar! Liar!" she cried in anger, "Let me go!!"  
  
Breaking away from him, Aeris rushed to escape. he called her name, but suddenly felt that repressed seizure savagely dig its claws into his lungs.  
  
Vincent fell against the wall and covered his mouth with both hand and claw, breaking into a most intense bout of coughing. His chest heaved violently as blood streamed through his fingers. The coughing turned into an outright struggle for breath. At times, Vincent thought he may choke out his lungs with the amount of coughing and gasping he was doing.  
  
His chest did not calm down until five minutes had past. He breathed deeply and tiredly until five minutes had past. Though the cold rain washed his face, he felt very feverish.  
  
Much to his surprise, he noticed Aeris walk up to him and stand infront of him. He had thought she had ran off while he was coughing.  
  
Aeris, indeed, would have ran away, but when she heard Vincent choking on his blood, stopped short and turned to look at him. Although her mind had vigorously urged her to take advantage of Vincent's coughing and escape,  
her heart had begged her to look at the suffering man.  
  
She had silently gazed at him as he struggled with the deplorable seizure.  
His words had slowly echoed in her ears, and her heart had beseeched her to "go to him". Therefore, before she realized it, Aeris stood infront of Vincent, looking very guilty and ashamed.  
  
"I..I'm sorry, Vincent," she faltered, on the verge of tears, "I..didn't mean to call you all those awful names. You must think me the most spiteful, ungrateful wretch on Earth, especially after all the trouble you went through just to find me. It's just that I'm so..so tired of living like some animal on the run."  
  
Vincent stood upright, looking at the poor girl wipe away her tears with her wet sleeve.  
  
"I wish..I could be like Tifa," she said dreamily, "She has Cloud, and her own restaurant, and her own life. She..she doesn't have to look over her shoulder and wonder if some monster will grab her from behind."  
  
She stared straight up at Vincent, and smiled. But it was a sad, bitter smile of inconsolable grief.  
  
"Me? Look at what I'm doing. I'm running around Midgar in the rain, with you on my tail."  
  
She fixed her sorrowful eyes on the muddy ground, waiting for Vincent to reply. An oppressive silence fell on them for a few minutes. She wished he would say something, even if it were rebuke.  
  
Vincent, however, slowly lifted his hand and gently touched her cheek.  
  
She looked up at him in astonishment as he caressed her cheek with his warm hand. His eyes weren't stern, but gleamed softly and kindly at her. For some reason, Aeris felt her entire face grow unbearably hot.  
  
Suddenly, Vincent's eyes darted to the side in alarm.  
  
"LOOK OUT!!!" he shouted, thrusting his whole metallic arm forward to protect Aeris.  
  
An ear-splitting gunshot rang out of the darkness and blasted against Vincent's arm so violently, it sent him sprawling onto his side against the sludgy ground.  
  
"VINCENT!!!" Aeris shrieked, flying to his side at once.  
  
Vincent struggled to rise from the ground, but the pain tore at his arm so savagely, he only managed to writhe on his back with a grunt. The bullet had so accurately hit the very base of his arm, where the metal connected to the flesh. That was the only weakpoint of his entire arm.  
  
And whoever shot me, Vincent thought painfully, knew damn well I'd take the shot. Whoever did this, aimed for her head so he could shoot my arm...he knew exactly where to shoot!  
  
"Vincent!! Vincent, get up!!" begged Aeris hysterically. He gnashed his teeth as she helped him sit up. Holding his dirty, distraught face between her trembling hands, she stared frantically at him in anguish.  
  
"Are you okay?! Are you okay?!" she cried.  
  
Before he could answer, Vincent heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked.  
  
He instantly sprang to his feet and grabbed Aeris, just as a wild spray of bullets broke out from the darkness.  
  
The bullets showered the two incessantly, but Vincent miraculously dodged them with abnormal speed. He dashed towards the corner of the demolished building, carrying Aeris under his armpit as though she were a precious parcel.  
  
He ducked around the corner just as a mad bullet whizzed through the hem of his coat.  
  
The bullets blasted angrily against the corner Vincent hid behind. They bombarded the whole barrier so furiously , several chips and scraps of loose metal flew off the building and crashed loudly around the two.  
  
Vincent immediately embraced Aeris and huddled against the wall,  
completely shielding the girl with his body. Some wild pieces of falling metal lashed his back as the bullets pelted the wall, but he only tightened his grip on Aeris and held her closer to himself.  
  
Aeris, scarcely understanding what was happening, buried her full face into his chest and clung to his sleeve frantically. Her shoulders trembled.  
She shut her eyes, trying to stop the cruel shower of gunfire from battering her weary ears. It felt as though they would never stop.  
  
Suddenly, the bullets ceased their attack. All was quiet.  
  
Vincent, after a few moments, raised his head cautiously, but still kept a tight grasp around the girl. The whole building looked more wretched now that the rain had stopped. Numerous fragments of shattered iron scraps and dirty rubble lay piteously in the mud around the two.  
  
The haunting silence seemed surprisingly out of place. Vincent felt sure it was only a forced stillness.  
  
"Well, Mr. Valentine," laughed a voice from the depths of the darkness,  
"I'm glad to see you've improved your hearing senses like I advised you."  
  
Vincent gave a little start on hearing the voice. It sounded very familiar to his ear.  
  
"Come out," ordered the voice authoritatively, "I know you're hiding around that corner."  
  
There was another silence for a few moments before Vincent decided to face the gunman. He slowly made a movement to get up, but Aeris clung to him firmly and would not let him go, as though letting go meant death.  
  
Vincent did not struggle to loosen her grip. Instead, he gently stroked her hair and whispered hurriedly into her ear. Aeris only shook her head vigorously as an answer and dug her face into his coat, refusing to release him.  
  
Vincent then tenderly cradled her as he murmured inaudibly into her ear again. he whispered patiently and coaxingly to her, without showing the least bit of annoyance with her persistence.  
  
When she finally nodded her head meekly, he kissed her hair and slowly tore himself away from her to get up.  
  
Aeris leaned against the wall with both hands covering her mouth. She could not even find enough strength to speak. Her heart pounded terribly;  
her shoulders would not stop shaking.  
  
Vincent calmly pulled out his gun from its holster as he left Aeris and turned around the corner. Although his damaged arm ached horribly and grew burdensome, he seemed utterly oblivious to the pain. He gazed sternly at the darkness infront of him, knowing the assailant, whoever he was, stood there facing him.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Valentine," greeted the composed voice, "Or should I call you Vincent?"  
  
Vincent knitted his brows in contempt, but made no reply.  
  
"I bet you're just dying to know who I am, eh, my friend?"  
  
Vincent silently cocked his gun with a sharp click.  
  
"Oh ho," chuckled the voice, "actions speak louder that words, huh?"  
  
Vincent suddenly pointed his gun at the source of the voice, glaring furiously at the dark void infront of him, even though he could not see the gunman.  
  
"Are you the bastard who's been hounding this girl down?" he asked,  
feeling anger bubble in his heart.  
  
"Why call me a bastard, Vincent?" reproached the voice, "I'm only doing my job. Didn't you use to do the same thing I'm doing now?"  
  
Vincent blinked at the strangeness of the question, but quickly recovered himself and pointed the gun with even more firmness.  
  
"I don't know what kind of bullshit you're trying to pull off, Sir," he replied quietly, "but you can rest assured: this girl is not going anywhere with you."  
  
"Don't tell me, Vincent, that you've forgotten you were a blood-thirsty Turk 31 years ago?"  
  
Saying this, the voice emerged from the darkness in the form of a tall shadow. He stood directly infront of Vincent, but Vincent still could not distinguish his facial features. The darkness shrouded the man's entire face except for his bright pink eyes, which gleamed straight at him, daring him to shoot.  
  
"Huh!" scoffed the figure venomously, "I'm not surprised. After all, 31 years is a pretty long time."  
  
The figure slowly advanced one more step, just as the moonlight broke through the clouds and fell on his face. The light made his hair appear whiter than before, but added a menacing glitter to his eyes. It was,  
indeed, the same man who had scared poor Aeris at the city square.  
  
He pushed a strand of stray white hair out of his face as he twisted his lips into a wry smile.  
  
Vincent was thunderstruck.  
  
"..Davoren..," he whispered, immediately lowering his gun.  
  
-End of Chp.7  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	6. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.8  
  
At first, Vincent thought he was perhaps hallucinating, but a second look dispersed that hope: Davoren was standing infront of him, smiling mockingly at his confusion.  
  
"Davoren," muttered Vincent audibly this time.  
  
"Why, you remember my name! I'm flattered, Vincent," laughed Davoren good-humorously, "Do you usually remember the names of the people you kill?"  
  
Vincent's eyes gave an involuntary twitch at the strange remark. His muscles stiffened as he gazed at Davoren's face, hoping to find some answers to all the burning questions that crowded his brain.  
  
Although Davoren's countenance had dramatically shifted from jeering to affable, Vincent discerned an unmistakable gleam of immense hatred in that man's eyes. It was so spiteful and bitter, Vincent felt it sting his heart to the core.  
  
"What's wrong, Vincent?" Davoren smiled, "You'd think I was a ghost the way you're staring at me"  
  
Vincent's face darkened with contempt and unfeigned hatred. A cold sensation rapidly engulfed his heart as his eyes scanned this man. He tightened his grip on his gun, but did not raise it.  
  
I don't care what my eyes are seeing, he argued inside his stunned brain,  
I don't care! This cannot be Davoren!  
  
And yet, answered another voice within him, he's standing right there infront of you.  
  
Both men stared at each other, as though measuring their strengths.  
Neither said a word.  
  
Aeris, who had finally managed to compose her shattered nerves, struggled to her feet with great difficulty. She leaned against the wall, gasping for breath and shaking pitifully.  
  
"V..Vincent!" she started, "Ah! Where is he?!"  
  
Intense anxiety over him suddenly gripped her heart. She looked around confusedly, wondering how he had disappeared, then remembered he had left her safely behind the corner and went to face the gunman.  
  
Though obviously still in shock after escaping the previous gunfire, she managed to stagger around the battered corner. Much to her relief, Aeris found Vincent a few steps ahead of her, with his back facing her.  
  
She also noticed Davoren standing a few yards away, grinning coldly at Vincent. She immediately recognized him, and recoiled with fear in spite of herself.  
  
Vincent apparently discerned her presence behind him; he turned his head head around slightly to glance at her. Davoren perceived her as well. His mocking smile instantly disappeared. replaced by a frightening, stoic expression.  
  
Both fixed their eyes on her, yet remained grudgingly silent, each waiting for the other to speak.  
  
Poor Aeris was overwhelmed by the strange looks in the two men: Vincent's eyes shone with such malice and unmasked hostility; totally contrary to the warm, gentle gleam when he had touched her cheek just minutes ago.  
  
As for Davoren, that dreadful gunman, he gazed at her with such frigidity,  
his face might have been chiseled of marble.  
  
"Hm..," sneered Davoren suddenly, breaking the oppressive silence, "She's very pretty, Mr. Valentine. I don't blame you for sacrificing your arm to protect her."  
  
Vincent gave him a most cutting, dirty look. He felt his muscles stiffen with an intense desire to kill Davoren, to tear his hateful smile off his face. His wrathful eyes shone with such fire, as though they would reduce that man to ashes.  
  
Davoren, on the other hand, seemed delighted to have enraged Vincent. He grinned as innocently as a child.  
  
"V..Vincent," faltered Aeris, walking up to him uneasily, "Do you.. know this man?"  
  
Vincent narrowed his eyes contemptuously at Davoren. He seemed to be debating some issue in his brain before granting the girl an answer.  
  
"Yes," he replied without looking at her, "I know him."  
  
Aeris stopped exactly one step from him, still facing his back. She had one hand clasped over her heart as she looked concernedly at Vincent,  
wondering why he used such a dispassionate, icy tone.  
  
His whole countenance, in fact, seemed to have grown alarmingly cold and emotionless. So much, that Aeris dared not ask him any further questions.  
  
"We were 'friends' 31 years ago, my dear. That's why he's so cross," added Davoren with evident humor.  
  
Vincent knitted his brows at the word "friend". His fingers twitched on the trigger of his gun, and yet he refused to use it, and still more stubbornly, refused to comment aloud.  
  
Aeris, however, did not understand the gunman's strange meaning at all.  
She turned her head to Davoren, and found his eyes lingering thoughtfully on her; he obviously yearned to tell her something.  
  
As if obeying his command, Aeris took a few steps past Vincent, and stood between the two men. Her hands trembled slightly, but her heart felt strongly determined. For a few minutes, only the continuous creeks of the crumbling ShinRa building filled the air, as though complaining of all the brutal damage inflicted on it. Nevertheless, none of the three would consent to talk first.  
  
"The Professor tells me," began Davoren, "that you've been a very naughty girl by running away from the Laboratory."  
  
Despite the involuntary shiver she felt at the mention of the despised Professor, Aeris looked straight at his calm face. Vincent remained rooted to his spot, a few steps behind her. He was resentfully silent.  
  
"He's been in a perfect state of hysterics," Davoren continued, "Just blubbering about you, and wondering where you were hiding."  
  
"You work for him, don't you?" Aeris asked apprehensively, "He sent you to capture me." Her head grew dizzy. she found the air unbearably suffocating.  
  
"I didn't even need to speak, girl. You knew that the minute you saw me.  
That's why you ran off, correct?"  
  
Aeris nodded her head slowly, as if guilty of some heinous crime. Davoren glanced at Vincent, then smirked amusedly at the girl in a totally self-satisfied way.  
  
"But I must say, girl," he commented slyly, "you look exceptionally well.  
Looks like Vincent has been taking good care of you. You must mean a great deal to him, eh? Heh heh."  
  
Aeris blinked in surprise at Davoren. a hectic flush quickly colored her whole face. But Vincent did not even flinch from his position.  
  
"I'm sure the Professor will be very pleased to know you're safe and well-protected," he added as he slowly walked towards her with a mocking expression on his face.  
  
Aeris jumped back two steps in alarm. Suddenly, she felt Vincent firmly grip her arm and yank her behind him. He immediately pointed his gun straight at Davoren, his eyes glaring fiercely.  
  
Davoren stopped indifferently, and returned Vincent's gaze with a cool smile, obviously happy to have won a response out of his "friend".  
  
"I don't know how the Hell you could be standing there, Davoren," he growled in a low voice, "You may as well be a ghost, for all I know."  
  
Vincent pushed Aeris as far behind him as possible while still pointing his gun at Davoren. She wanted to protest; but before she could open her mouth, Vincent took one firm step forward to confront the gunman, ignoring her completely.  
  
"And I don't understand how you managed to survive," Vincent continued maliciously, "but that doesn't change a thing: Aeris will not be going back to that Professor. Not while there's breath in my body."  
  
Davoren looked at Vincent defiantly, who had his gun rigidly fixed on him,  
then burst out into a fit of maniacal laughter.  
  
Aeris leaned against the wall but absolutely refused to hide. Her heart grew uneasy as Davoren's hysterical outburst filled the gloomy air.  
Vincent, however, did not waver, and kept his weapon aimed on its mark.  
  
"That was very kind of you to take the bullet for the girl, Vincent," said Davoren, digressing onto a completely new topic, "I must admit, I was quite surprised to see you sacrifice your arm for her. Very chivalrous indeed."  
  
Vincent's arm twitched slightly, reminding him of his injury. He finally noticed the gnawing pain in his arm and the uncomfortable heat which burned its base. He could hear tiny, barely audible sparks fizzling inside his metallic arm.  
  
damn, he cursed, my arm's in even worse shape than I thought. That was no random shot, the cunning bastard.  
  
"You knew I'd take the shot for her," Vincent muttered vehemently, "In fact, you made sure I'd hear you load your gun so I could protect her. That shot was for me, not her."  
  
"Heh heh," chuckled the happy gunman, "You don't miss a thing, Mr.  
Valentine. Sharp and shrewd, as always."  
  
The sarcastic smile on Davoren's face instantly disintegrated. He quickly pulled out a cold machine-gun from the depths of his trenchcoat, and jammed a full cartridge of bullets into its hallow chamber.  
  
Aeris gave a violent start on seeing the gun. Her voice immediately failed her as the pounding of her heart drowned her ears, and sickening nausea chocked her.  
  
However, Davoren didn't even use his gun. He did not even raise it, and seemed to regard his weapon as a mere toy. Vincent would lower his gun,  
instead gazed hatefully at Davoren.  
  
"I admire your youthful courage, Vincent," he muttered monotonously, "even though you're..what..55 years old?"  
  
"58."  
  
"Fair enough. An old man, all the same."  
  
Aeris turned her eyes rapidly from one man to the other as she listened to their bizarre, nonsensical conversation. She thought her senses were leaving her.  
  
"You didn't even hesitate to sacrifice your arm for the girl. Only the young possess such unselfish courage."  
  
Vincent was morosely silent, but felt a bitter anger raging in his heart.  
Davoren hung his gun by his side, tapping it carelessly with one finger.  
  
"Why," continued Davoren calmly, "Surely you knew I'd hit your weak point,  
Vincent. But that didn't seem to stop you either."  
  
A totally new thought occurred to Vincent so suddenly, he lowered his gun in alarm.  
  
"How'd you know the weak point in the first place?" asked Vincent suspiciously.  
  
Davoren gazed stoically at him, expecting him to grasp the answer from his eyes. Aeris cautiously stepped near Vincent, but did not know what to say.  
Her mind was completely baffled.  
  
"ANSWER ME!" he demanded, "HOW?"  
  
"Guess."  
  
There's no way he could've known my weak point, frowned Vincent thoughtfully, the only person who could possibly know it, besides me, would be...  
  
He was literally struck dumb with the sudden conclusion.  
  
Davoren smiled faintly, glad to see that his "friend" had finally understood.  
  
"D..Davoren," he whispered hoarsely, "is Hojo behind this? Is he he the same Professor you work for?"  
  
Aeris, discerning his anxiety, crept up to Vincent from behind and gently touched his arm. She looked up at him concernedly, but he seemed oblivious to her existence. He focused his burning eyes on Davoren's face, waiting for an immediate answer.  
  
"You're in luck, Vincent," replied Davoren with a mocking glitter in his eyes, "the Professor has ordered me to catch you as well as the little girl. You'll find out when you see him..that is, if you live to see him."  
  
The two men glared at each other viciously. Aeris felt the stillness weigh her down like a rock, yet she kept her hand on Vincent's arm. She simply did not know what else to do.  
  
Vincent suddenly shoved her away from him, just as Davoren shot up his arm and opened fire on the two.  
  
The push sent Aeris flying onto her side behind the safe corner. The mad bullets tore savagely at anything that opposed them: the wall, the ground,  
even the air. Aeris hugged the wall, covering her head with both hands, as the gunfire blasted away. She shut her eyes to suppress crying out, but could not stop shaking.  
  
Davoren, however, seemed more interested in shooting Vincent. Vincent bolted across the desolate Haunt, vaulting over heaps of rubble or ducking under contorted scraps of metal, as Davoren sent a torrent of bullets after him.  
  
The bullets chased him relentlessly, overturning stones and pieces of rotting wood in their hot pursuit, but Vincent only tripled his speed to dodge them. Perceiving a rusty car some distance away, he made a frenzied dash towards it. It was his only hope for shelter.  
  
The gunman abruptly altered the course of the bullets, blasting a massive pile of debris instead. The violent gunshot sent the whole mountain of rubble tumbling down like an avalanche onto the muddy ground, which effectively blocked Vincent's path to the car.  
  
Vincent skidded to a halt in alarm, but immediately backtracked his steps,  
just as some wild bullets whizzed past his face. On spotting the ShinRa pumping pipes a few yards away, he shot forward as fast as his feet would carry him. That was his last hope.  
  
Vincent leapt over one of the giant pipes, and tumbled onto his back, but Davoren obstinately refused to halt the deadly shower of bullets.  
  
Vincent scuffled on all four to huddle by the corroded, sturdy, and metallic pipe. The whole structure vibrated with every "ping" and "pang" of the gunfire. Though he squeezed his eyes to shut out the deafening gunshots,  
Vincent managed to pull out his gun and hold it near his feverish face.  
  
His thoughts drifted back...back into the depths of his memories, some of which he had forgotten, or at least believed he had. Yes..he found Davoren buried there..31 long years ago...  
  
The bombardment suddenly halted, awakening Vincent from his reverie.  
  
"Ha ha!" laughed Davoren delightedly, "Well, my aiming is certainly not as good as yours, Vincent. I just wasted an entire cartridge without even scratching you."  
  
"Don't insult my intelligence, Davoren!" retorted Vincent from behind the pipe, "You know as well as I do you didn't aim to kill. You're just playing with me."  
  
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "What fun would the hunt be without a little struggle?"  
  
Vincent gritted his teeth to restrain a curse.  
  
In a flash, he sprang on top of the thick pipe and opened fire on Davoren,  
aiming directly at his head. But the ruthless gunman instantly flew behind a miserable heap of garbage, barely avoiding the bullets.  
  
Vincent, using this opportunity, darted away from the pipe to a nearby shattered wall which slumped against another pipe.  
  
On reaching this flimsy barrier, Vincent quickly crouched behind it,  
cautiously keeping his head low and his back double bent. He gasped for air as he strained every nerve to sense Davoren's' movements, but failed to discern any sound.  
  
"I always knew you were a sharp-shooter, Vincent," commented Davoren from behind his own shelter, "unfortunately, open-air tactics just isn't your specialty."  
  
Vincent heard the unmistakable chink of another cartridge being stuffed into the machine-gun. He gripped his own gun tightly, wrangling his brains to find a way out of this dilemma.  
  
He admitted to himself that Davoren spoke the truth: out of the two,  
Vincent was the better marksman. But when it came to battle tactics with firearms, Davoren was the better schemer by far. He definitely had the experience to back him up.  
  
Suddenly, a thick shower of gunshots ruthlessly battered the weak wall,  
heedless to its silent entreaties. Vincent, with his metallic arm protecting his head, thrust out his other arm and fired randomly at Davoren's direction.  
  
They exchanged several shots, but the groaning barrier, evidently unable to withstand the brutal cross-fire, swayed heavily to the side, much to Vincent's alarm. He instantly rolled out into the open, barely escaping the collapsing wall.  
  
Davoren embraced his chance, and doubled the amount of bullets. The unprotected Vincent buried his face into the wet ground as he implanted his metallic arm infront of his face. Using this arm as a shield, he continued to fire at his enemy without seeing him.  
  
Bits of dirt and rubble flew up around Vincent as the battle raged on.  
Four bullets had already grazed his both of his shoulders, and one nearly pierced his thigh, but he stubbornly refused to yield to his enemy.  
  
Davoren promptly abandoned his shelter, because it obstructed his view of Vincent, and began shooting at him in the open. he cursed incessantly.  
  
catching sight of him, Vincent scurried to his feet as he fired one shot at Davoren's arm; but the gunman narrowly escaped it with a grazed shoulder instead.  
  
However, that shot was only a distraction. Before Davoren could blink,  
Vincent darted straight at him in full speed with his gun flashing infront of his pale face. The gunman raised his weapon to shoot.  
  
All was still.  
  
Aeris, noticing the unnatural silence, lifted her head in wonder. As she looked around herself, she staggered up to her feet. She limped to the corner, and peered around it cautiously.  
  
To her speechless horror, she saw Davoren and Vincent standing face to face some distance away; the former with his machine-gun pointed at Vincent's throat; the latter with his gun aimed at Davoren's forehead.  
  
Each man seemed to read the other's thoughts. but would not speak.  
  
"Vincent!!" cried Aeris, finding her voice at last. She immediately deserted her corner and ran towards them.  
  
"Stay back!" warned Vincent sternly, without flinching a muscle or taking his eyes off Davoren.  
  
"But.."  
  
"I said STAY BACK!!"  
  
Something in his icy tone advised Aeris not to advance any further, but she obstinately refused to go back. Her terror left a lump in her throat as she anticipated a double carnage: both men have their guns straight at each other!! Neither can escape!! Can't he see that?!  
  
But Vincent saw it only too well. He felt the clod muzzle of the machine-gun near his throat. His finger twitched ceaselessly on the trigger, yet he knew the instant he's pull it, Davoren would shoot his throat.  
  
Davoren gazed stoically at Vincent, not at all disturbed by Vincent's gun.  
In fact, he seemed totally oblivious to the weapon pointed at his forehead.  
  
"Well?" asked Davoren affably, "Pull the trigger already."  
  
Vincent's eyes narrowed in violent disgust. His hands trembled slightly as sweat streamed down his face.  
  
"You've killed me once, Vincent," he sneered, "Go on. Kill me again."  
  
Different thoughts and sensations raged inside his head, but Vincent kept his eyes keenly fixed on Davoren's face, expecting some trick.  
  
"Don't tell me you're going soft on me, Mr. Valentine!" shouted Davoren impatiently, "PULL THE TRIGGER !!!"  
  
Vincent shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger.  
  
The gun gave a stiff "click"; it was empty, or rather, Vincent had completely forgotten to reload it.  
  
Aeris, dumbfounded with horror, pressed her hands over her mouth. Vincent blinked incredulously at Davoren, his mind stunned beyond measure. Though he did not lower his empty gun, he felt bitter defeat laugh and jeer at his face.  
  
Davoren, with a sympathetic look, chuckled quietly, as a parent may laugh lovingly at his inexperienced child.  
  
"Didn't I always tell you 'reload your gun every time you find a shelter'?" he scolded gently.  
  
the minute he uttered that reproof, Davoren shot up his leg and gave Vincent a powerful kick directly under his chin, sending him flying a few yards away. Vincent crashed into a hill of iron scraps and other useless debris, his head ramming against a jagged, rusty old pole that lay in the rubbish.  
  
He tumbled three or four times down the heap of debris, until finally coming to rest at the bottom.  
  
He lay face down in the mud, with one arm pitifully stretched out infront of him. Filth and muddy water dirtied his tattered overcoat. His metallic arm, dented with bullets, sparked occasionally with various injuries.  
  
Vincent did not move.  
  
Davoren, after a few silent minutes, trotted towards Vincent triumphantly.  
On reaching the unconscious man, he let his eyes skim "the prey" and gloat evilly over his success.  
  
He slowly aimed his cold-hearted gun straight at Vincent's head, getting ready to finish him off.  
  
"STOP IT!!" shrieked Aeris, suddenly grabbing his gun to divert its direction.  
  
The poor girl, who had been in shock up that point, had lunged forward at Davoren to save Vincent. She herself scarcely understood what she was doing.  
  
"Out of my way!!" roared Davoren as he ruthlessly flung her to the side.  
Aeris stumbled to the ground, but immediately jumped back to her feet again. She glared maliciously at the gunman, not at all afraid of him.  
  
"Bastard!!" she shouted, "Only a bastard like YOU would shoot an unconscious man in the head!!"  
  
Davoren narrowed his evil, pink eyes as he studied her furious face. He slowly took a step away from Vincent, turning his whole body to face her.  
He frowned disapprovingly at her.  
  
"You surprise me, girl," he said dryly, "I would have expected you to run off while your 'guardian' was distracting me."  
  
Aeris clenched her fists. wishing she had enough strength to hurt him.  
  
"Now, if you're smart," he continued, "you'd run away while I blast his head off."  
  
"I may be a weakling compared to you, you white-haired puppet!" she snapped at him, "But I will not abandon my friends! Especially NOT him!!"  
  
Davoren smirked at the feeble insult, then coolly pushed a strand of his white hair out of his face with obvious amusement.  
  
"Not like it would've mattered," he replied, "I would have found you eventually. If not now, then later"  
  
Aeris' heart pounded loudly in her chest and perspiration broke out on her face. She looked upon this hateful man as some horrible monster.  
  
"You must think me some brutal monster, my dear," commented Davoren,  
breaking into her thoughts, "or some ruthless devil from Hell, eh?"  
  
Aeris was silent.  
  
"And you must think Vincent is some divine saint from Heaven, all pure and innocent."  
  
Vincent twitched his shoulder and slowly lifted his heavy head out of the mud, much to Aeris' relief. He could not distinguish any clear thoughts until a sharp pain ripped through his skull. He instantly covered the back of his head with a faint moan, then felt a warm liquid quickly soak his hand. His head was bleeding.  
  
Davoren, who had noticed him unsteadily regain conscious, suddenly kicked the man's side savagely. Vincent unresistingly rolled onto his back,  
gasping loudly for breath. Davoren firmly implanted his foot on Vincent's heaving chest, and laughed scornfully at the horrified Aeris.  
  
"He's the angel, I'm the devil, right?" he sneered, "but the truth is he has as much blood on his hands as I do, if not more."  
  
"You lie!!" she cried in anguish, "Vincent isn't ANYTHING like you!!"  
  
"He's a Turk, my dear," he grinned, turning to his injured victim slowly,  
"We're both blood-thirsty Turks."  
  
Her eyes flooded with tears as Davoren aimed his gun at Vincent's head again. Vincent, still dazed from his painful injuries, stared blankly at the muzzle of the weapon. He could not even find enough strength to raise his bleeding head from the mud.  
  
"You don't know what a Turk is, do you?" Davoren asked her, but still gazed directly at Vincent, "It's a person who openly gives up his humanity to become a cold-hearted, killing-machine. He kills, lies, destroys,  
anything to please the Devil. A Turk is a monster in human form."  
  
Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on something, then slowly reopened them. the confused, hazy look had disappeared, replaced by a cold, steady glare.  
  
"That's a Turk, girl," Davoren concluded, "And your precious angel here was one of the best Turks I've ever seen. To him, the job came naturally."  
  
A heavy silence lingered for a few minutes, in which each man stared daringly at the other. Finally, Davoren decided to break the stillness.  
  
"I warned you, Mr. Valentine, that open-air tactics wasn't your strong point. I could've beaten a whole army of you with all the mistakes you were making."  
  
Vincent did not reply.  
  
"Oh well," sighed Davoren in dismay, "The Professor only wants the girl alive. He doesn't care if you die or live, just as long as he gets you."  
  
Vincent turned his head away sullenly, but his shoulders shook. as though he were desperately trying to suppress some emotion. Davoren thought he was crying; Aeris thought he was in pain.  
  
Much to their astonishment, Vincent burst out laughing. Aeris was certainly stunned: She had never, ever seen Vincent smile, let alone laugh.  
  
But his laughter, far from normal, sounded as if a demon had possessed his body and squeezed it out by force. It rang out of him violently. Tears formed in his eyes as his aching chest heaved up and down, despite Davoren's foot. He seemed out of control.  
  
Aeris clasped both her hands in anxiety.  
  
"Oh God!" she muttered to herself, "He's delirious!"  
  
Davoren reluctantly removed his foot from Vincent's chest, allowing his to sit up on his elbows. Studying his dirty, contorted face with its blood-shot and tearful eyes, Davoren believed Vincent had somehow lost his mind.  
  
A thin stream of blood trickled down Vincent's forehead as he gradually calmed down. He then looked straight up at Davoren with a contemptuous,  
scornful smile.  
  
"I'm not as skilled as you in battle tactics, Davoren, but I've learned a strategy or two in 30 years!"  
  
Saying that, Vincent suddenly jerked up his bloody hand, producing a small revolver concealed in his sleeve.  
  
The astonished Davoren instantly opened fire on him, but Vincent miraculously rolled out of the way. In a flash, Vincent shot up his arm and fired three times.  
  
But he didn't shoot the gunman. Instead, he had shot straight up at the ShinRa building directly behind him.  
  
This sudden movement had obviously exhausted Vincent; he dropped the revolver and fell back upon the ground as he gasped loudly for air. Davoren stared at him blankly, completely baffled by his action: he had another gun, why didn't he shoot me then? What kind of "strategy" is that?  
  
But a thunderous creek from above effectively interrupted his reflections.  
Davoren looked up at the groaning building in alarm, not understanding why it creaked so loudly. Vincent opened one eye tiredly, but was too weak to lift his head.  
  
Suddenly, the whole upper wall of this majestic building collapsed and plunged towards the two men, its crumbling stones and iron bars aiming straight for them.  
  
When Vincent had shot upwards, he had intentionally shattered a weak pipe,  
which happened to be the only support the upper wall possessed. With this pipe eliminated, the entire wall burst forward, dropping its whole weight towards the two men.  
  
Vincent instantly aroused himself and scurried to his feet with a grunt.  
In a last effort, he sprang forward, just as the destructive wall crashed into the muddy ground with all its might.  
  
The crash sent dust and all types of rubble flying around the desolate Haunt. Vincent, who had tumbled onto his side, coughed as his chest throbbed painfully. He knew his metallic arm had long ceased to function,  
and the terrible ache in his head reminded him he was bleeding. He felt himself losing conscious again.  
  
Someone grabbed his two arms and pulled him away with great difficulty from the crash site. At first, he thought Davoren had somehow managed to escape the falling wall, but Aeris' voice proved him wrong: the gunman had definitely perished under all the wreckage.  
  
"Vincent!!" she cried, "C'mon! Say something!"  
  
His whole head spun around. The girl stretched him fully on the ground and looked over him in anguish. She wiped his dirty face with her wet sleeve,  
patting his cheeks every so often to awaken him.  
  
"You can't die on me now, Vincent!! Wake up! Please!!"  
  
Her pleading voice sounded terribly muffled to his ears. His eyes grew cloudy as his senses failed him. His conscious slowly faded..faded into oblivion..  
  
But he suddenly sat up in alarm, as though Aeris had just splashed cold water in his face. But it wasn't her cries that had aroused him, it was a distinct smell that permeated the dank air: gas.  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Vincent jumped to his feet and grabbed Aeris around the waist.  
  
"Ah!! W..what are you doing?!!" she cried in astonishment.  
  
He immediately bolted straight out of the devastated Haunt, leaping over the iron pipes and skipping over the rubble. He flew over the rusty fence in one leap, and doubled his speed to reach the alley down the street.  
  
Aeris squirmed uncomfortably in his tight grip, but held onto his tattered coat as he ducked into the alley in a frenzy.  
  
The instant they turned in that alley, an earth-shaking explosion ripped through the air. Vincent nearly stumbled as the violent vibrations rocked the ground, but he refused to slow down.  
  
He skidded out of the alley and dashed down the main street, still carrying Aeris around the waist.  
  
Several people, with exclamations of wonder, pointed in the direction of the ShinRa Haunt.  
  
"Look!" shouted a man.  
  
"My God!" gasped another.  
  
"Heavens mercy!" a woman exclaimed, "It's the ShinRa Haunt!!"  
  
Passers-by began flocking about, calling to each other in confusion.  
Several shop owners peered out of their shops quizzically, while the customers crowded behind them to see as well. Many cars actually pulled over and their drivers pushed their heads out of the windows in disbelief.  
  
Vincent rushed down the street heedlessly, but Aeris glanced in the direction everyone marveled at. A brilliant orange light illuminated the sky as a huge trail of black smoke danced its way up from the ShinRa Haunt.  
The place was on fire.  
  
She finally understood why Vincent was so eager to escape. He had foreseen the explosion.  
  
Vincent ruthlessly tore his way through the confused crowds of spectators with such unnatural strength, as though he derived his power from some external force. He managed to quickly evade several people and darted forward, not even paying attention to his surroundings. Indeed, escape seemed to be his only thought.  
  
Much to the girl's alarm, he dashed across a busy street, unconcerned with an approaching van that sped towards them.  
  
"AH!! LOOK OUT!!!" screamed Aeris, tugging his coat madly. The vehicle blared angrily at them, but could not stop in time.  
  
Vincent, however, hopped onto the top of the speedy van and leapt over it effortlessly. He flipped to the sidewalk, to the astonishment of all who saw him, then dodged into another street.  
  
The van skidded to a halt. Its driver shot out his head with a most and petrified look on his face.  
  
"Mother of God!!! I nearly ran over a demon!!!!" he blurted out, crossing himself several times.  
  
Aeris felt her eyelids grow heavy as they flew past streets and buildings.  
All the previous running; all the different emotions she had experienced in the last hour slowly caught up with her. She nestled her head against Vincent's body, and fell unconscious.  
  
Aeris woke up when Vincent suddenly slowed down. She did not know how long he had been running, but guessed it to be a long time. His breaths came in short, coarse gasps as he dragged his feet across the frozen ground of some deserted park.  
  
He dropped the girl, and collapsed on all four, trying to cough and breath at the same time. Aeris immediately rubbed his back soothingly and encouraged him to hold on.  
  
Aeris looked around herself, until she recognized the place: it was the park near Vincent's apartment. In fact, she spotted his home some distance away. He had ran all the way from the Haunt to the apartment.  
  
She instantly turned her attentions to Vincent, who meekly begged her to help him lean against the tree behind him.  
  
"Here, just take a deep breath," she whispered, reclining his back on the dead, frozen tree. Unbearable pain tore at his head and chest with every agonizing breath. He squeezed his eyes, trying to ease his suffering.  
  
Aeris eagerly tried to relieve. She chafed his frozen hand, oblivious to the moist blood that smeared it. When she noticed his battered claw twisted uncomfortably by his side, she reached out to lift it.  
  
"DON'T TOUCH IT!!" he warned, startling her, "You'll get electrocuted!!"  
  
Aeris stared at his angry face, then cast her eyes down at the ground,  
feeling her cheeks flush with shame. He sullenly turned his head away as he bit his lower lip to control his ordeal. Neither spoke a word until Vincent's breathing grew steady again.  
  
"V..Vincent?" she asked timidly.  
  
"What?" he answered in a weary tone. He was still leaning against the tree, eyes shut tight.  
  
"Vincent..I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."  
  
Vincent slowly turned his head to her. She was looking distressfully at his face, her beautiful green eyes welling up with guilty tears.  
  
"If..I hadn't run away..I wouldn't have endangered your life..I'm so..sorry.."  
  
He gazed thoughtfully at her, then suddenly became aware of something. He fumbled inside his tattered coat, much to Aeris' puzzlement, then pulled out the broken flower he had found on the street.  
  
"I think..this belongs to you," he muttered, holding the pink flower out to her. His eyes showed unmistakable fatigue, but they gleamed kindly,  
almost tenderly, at Aeris.  
  
Aeris stared blankly at the crushed flower, as if she had never seen such an object before.  
  
So many emotions and sensations swelled inside her heart: she could not believe that this man whom she had hated, feared, and openly insulted; this same man had rushed out in the rain to find her, help her, and when danger threatened, protected her with his life.  
  
She looked tearfully at Vincent, who blinked in surprise on seeing her troubled face. Aeris suddenly flung her arms around his neck, bursting into bitter tears.  
  
Vincent scarcely understood why she cried, but let her sob to her heart's content on his shoulder. He rested his head against hers, and tiredly shut his eyes again.  
  
They sat that way for a long time.  
  
End of Chp.8  
  
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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	7. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp. 9 When Aeris had finally calmed down, she slowly lifted her head from Vincent's shoulder and rubbed her swollen eyes. Vincent still sat hunched up against her, his battered head comfortably nestled by hers. He seemed to be asleep.  
Aeris, slightly embarrassed with his intimate posture, cautiously edged away from him. Vincent opened his weary eyes at the movement, and lifted his head. He instantly fell back against the tree again, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion.  
Aeris studied his haggard, dirty face. A thin stream of blood trickled through his bandanna and down his soiled cheek. Several strands of his wet hair dangled loosely infront of his face. His eyes were gently sealed, as though they would never reopen again.  
But she found his deathly calmness most alarming. Indeed, Vincent's whole appearance, with his slightly tilted head and careworn face, expressed such unnatural peacefulness, any passer-by may have thought him dead.  
"Vincent?" called Aeris hesitantly.  
No reply.  
"Vincent!!"  
"Not so loud..," he whispered feebly, "I can still hear you."  
Aeris was reduced to a nervous silence. He kept his eyes closed, evidently trying to gather his strength. Except for the occasional bark of some stray dog, nothing dared break the haunting tranquility of the park.  
"Aeris?" he asked in a low voice, but did not open his eyes.  
"Y..yes?"  
"Could you please help me up? I can't move my shoulders."  
Aeris gave a start as he slowly forced his eyes open. His bloodshot eyes blazed feverishly with a deep crimson glow. Every word, every breath, was an obvious agony to him.  
She instantly sprang up and began helping, or rather pulling, Vincent off the ground. After many failed attempts, Aeris finally managed to haul him to his feet. He staggered uneasily against her with a sharp grunt, but gritted his teeth to stifle any further cries.  
The girl could feel his heartbeat thumping loudly, and saw the sweat drip down his distraught face.  
God, she thought anxiously, if I don't get him home soon, he'll faint out here in the cold!  
She gently drew his arm around her neck and leaned his whole body against hers to support him.  
"Okay, Vincent, you're on your feet," she encouraged kindly, "Let's try taking a step forward."  
"You can't support me, Aeris," Vincent gasped out, "I'm too heavy for you.  
I can manage..by..myself.."  
"But you can't even stand up!"  
"Ah!" he moaned suddenly, "Ah..I think.. I can walk somehow..just..let me.."  
But he immediately crumbled to his knees in pain. Aeris pulled him back to his feet before he could fall, and tried desperately to support his unsteady body. He was right: his weight was far greater than she could bear, but Aeris would not give up.  
"We're almost home, Vincent. Look!" she said eagerly, "The apartment's just a few steps away! Don't quit yet!"  
She tightened her grip on his cold hand, as if that could give him new strength. He leaned with his full weight on her, unable to even balance his shoulders properly.  
"Please, Vincent," she begged, "let me help you."  
Though the pain tore at his entire body, especially his arms, he managed to nod his head submissively. he knew that if Aeris stopped supporting him,  
he'd lose conscious on the spot.  
they plodded slowly out of the frozen park, emerging into the empty,  
brightly-lit street. Their awkward footsteps broke the suffocating silence of the air. Aeris felt Vincent grow increasingly heavy as he dragged his weary feet behind him. He bit his lower lip with each step, and squeezed his eyes in pain.  
She continuously whispered some gentle words of encouragement into his ear, pressed his lifeless hand, anything to keep his conscious. At times,  
he completely lost balance, nearly crushing the poor girl under his weight,  
but instantly steadied himself again with an effort.  
"Aeris..," he muttered weakly, "Please..l..lean me against that wall.."  
"But we're nearly.."  
"Please," he begged with restraint, "I..I think I'm going to have another seizure.."  
She looked at his face in alarm, then cautiously rested his body against the brick wall, still keeping his arm around her neck. Aeris dared not utter a word for fear of upsetting him, yet could not take her eyes off him. The anxiety sickened her heart beyond endurance.  
Vincent shut his eyes in profound concentration, as if engaged in some grueling mental battle with the fit. Sweat broke out on his ghastly face.  
The seizure angrily rattled his chest, demanding its release. Vincent knitted his brows and gnashed his teeth to repress it. He would not surrender without a fight.  
Occasionally his resistance would falter, and he'd splutter out some blood with a sudden cough. But his persistence finally prevailed: the seizure reluctantly retreated into the depths of his chest, and he breathed easy again.  
Aeris steadied his anguished face; she felt his chest heave up and down with each gasp. Sometimes he uttered a faint moan and slumped to one side in exhaustion, but Aeris steadied him every time. Whatever remained of his strength was rapidly dwindling.  
"You're very sick, Vincent," she whispered compassionately, wiping away the sweat from his feverish face.  
"Y..yes," he agreed mechanically, "These fits have been ravaging my chest for the past five months.."  
He swallowed a deep breath of air, but suddenly burst out coughing, his throat gurgling with blood. Aeris frantically rubbed his chest, begging him to relax his muscles and breathe slowly.  
"Ah..," Vincent continued when he finally recovered himself, "At first,  
the fits were very small and infrequent. But lately..lately they've been attacking me quite often..and some of them are so violent..I..I.."  
He broke off his sentence with a pitiful sigh. Aeris nodded her head solemnly; she understood his meaning.  
  
When Vincent had gathered enough strength to move again, the two continued their agonizing journey to the apartment. Aeris felt her back might snap any moment with Vincent's weight, but immediately scoffed at her weakness:  
Vincent had just risked his life to save her, the very least she could do was help him home!  
"You should see a doctor, Vincent." she commented as they staggered into the reception hall of the building. Pressing the elevator button, she glanced up at Vincent in concern.  
"If I see a doctor," he mused dreamily, "he'd probably be more interested in my claw or my genetic makeup. I don't want a bunch of scientists examining me..once was enough."  
A loud chime interrupted the conversation, signaling the arrival of the long-awaited elevator. Aeris pulled Vincent inside, then pressed the appropriate button. When the doors closed, the elevator gave a slight jolt,  
and began its journey upwards.  
During this time, a heavy silence fell on the two, on Vincent in particular. He seemed to be brooding about some serious matter. Aeris occasionally glanced at his haggard, morose face, and decided it best not to pester him with meaningless questions.  
The elevator finally halted. Its doors quickly admitted them into the familiar corridor of apartment doors. Aeris' heart swelled with joy on spotting Vincent's door. It was only a few steps away.  
"Just hang on, Vincent," she encouraged cheerfully, "See? There's your door!"  
She turned excitedly to Vincent, but his serious face greatly disturbed her. He stared thoughtfully at the door, as though it hid some mysterious secret behind it.  
"Vincent?" asked Aeris apprehensively, "What's wrong?"  
He shifted his eyes to her, studying every feature of her anxious face.  
His arm, which Aeris still held around her neck, tensed with discomfort. He slowly brought his face near her ear, and began whispering in a most alarmingly low voice. His icy, dispassionate tone chilled her heart to the core; she felt his very breath tickle her ear.  
"Listen," he began gently, "when Tifa and Cloud ask what happened, let me do the talking."  
Aeris started on hearing the strange request. After some hesitation, she reluctantly nodded her head.  
"And..," he murmured more softly, "whatever I say, just agree with me. I know it sounds strange, Aeris, but please, do it for me."  
She looked at him in concern. Vincent wearily hung his head near her face,  
anticipating a reply.  
"Alright, Vincent," she whispered deliberately.  
"Thank you," he sighed, pressing her hand warmly.  
Aeris was silent, but felt her cheeks flush slightly at the pressure of his hand.  
Taking a deep breath, she knocked the door three times. there was an awkward pause. Suddenly, cloud flung the door open, and stared at the two with a large gaping mouth.  
"SHIT!!!" he exclaimed finally, "Vincent!! What the Hell happened to YOU?!!"  
Aeris handed the weary man over to Cloud, who immediately wrapped Vincent's arm around his neck and dragged him inside. The girl, relieved of the heavy load, followed them into the hallway.  
Cloud slammed the door behind her, then leaned Vincent against the door,  
shouting at the top of his lungs, "TIFA!! TIFA, C'MERE QUICK!!!"  
Tifa, with an empty plate in her hand, rushed out of the kitchen, as if a demon had been chasing her.  
"GOOD GRIEF!!" she screamed, dropping the plate in unmistakable horror,  
"VINCENT!!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT??!!"  
They all crowded around him, loudly demanding an immediate explanation.  
Vincent could not distinguish their faces, hear their words, or even understand their anxiety. Indeed, he felt his whole mind slipping away like water between his fingers.  
He clumsily slumped to one side, but both Aeris and Cloud grabbed him before he could collapse.  
"Vincent! Please, wake up!" sobbed Aeris. She supported him against her body, frantically squeezing his lifeless hand and pushing his hair out of his face.  
"Vincent! Hey!!" called Cloud, patting the man's cheeks repeatedly, "C'mon man! Snap out of it!!"  
"Oh God!" exclaimed Tifa, "We need to get him a doctor!"  
"Ah..no..," Vincent muttered as he finally steadied himself. Aeris still clung to him, afraid he may lose conscious again if she let go.  
"Whadd'ya mean 'no'?! have you lost your senses?!!" cried Tifa in anguish.  
"I..I'm alright..really.."  
"'Alright'?!" retorted Cloud amazedly, "Have you looked in the mirror lately?!"  
"It's not..as bad as it looks," Vincent forced out weakly.  
Leaning his head back against the door, he shut his tired eyes, as if gathering all his remaining strength in one last effort. All attention was riveted on him.  
"I just got into a street fight, that's all."  
Tifa gasped out loud, but covered her mouth to ease the shock. Cloud gripped Vincent's shoulders firmly and studied his haggard face, thinking he had perhaps misheard him. Aeris stared timidly at the ground. She was very quiet.  
"Excuse me," faltered Cloud, "did you just say you got into a street fight?"  
"Yes, I did."  
Cloud turned his head incredulously to Tifa; her face showed utter horror and distress at the news.  
"So..what happened?" asked Cloud after a brief silence.  
"Well," began Vincent calmly, "I went to search for Aeris, and eventually,  
I found her..in the Northern Slums."  
"Okay. And?"  
"When I found her there, I saw some thugs trying to mug her, and..other atrocities I won't mention."  
Cloud and Tifa nodded their heads solemnly, understanding his full meaning. Aeris fidgeted uncomfortably, her face growing hot with the fictitious story.  
"And, that's all really. I got into a fight with them."  
Cloud still held onto him, afraid he may somehow escape his grasp. Tifa looked from Vincent to Aeris, then back to Vincent, completely dumbfounded.  
"But, Vincent," asked Cloud in surprise, "I've seen you fight before, and I know no common thug from the streets could do this to you."  
Vincent turned his head away with a frown. Heaving a deep sigh, he mumbled, "Well of course, Cloud. But even I can't handle a whole gang of thugs without getting thrashed a bit. Besides, they had guns..and knives.."  
"Oh God!" whispered the horror-stricken Tifa.  
A heavy silence followed, in which no one dared break it. Vincent looked at everyone wearily, then shut his eyes again; the talking had totally drained him.  
"Aeris..is..is this true?" inquired Cloud softly. Both he and Tifa fixed their searching eyes on her, as if her answer alone would settle everything. Aeris felt her heart pound nervously, but slowly nodded her head.  
"I'm sorry," she apologized shamefully, "I..I wanted to run back here, but I got lost and..accidently wandered into those slums.."  
Cloud stared blankly at her; her simple excuse for running into that dangerous area astounded him. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Tifa,  
who quickly nodded her head in reply.  
"And, you're absolutely sure you're okay, Vincent?" insisted Cloud.  
"Yes..," he muttered, "but..my arm is slightly damaged. I can't move it."  
"Shit man!!" exclaimed Cloud on seeing the horribly disfigured claw, "It's in even worse shape than you!"  
With that remark, Cloud placed the man's arm around his neck again. Both girls helped Vincent steady himself on his wobbly feet, begging him to move slowly.  
"Careful. Don't touch my arm," warned Vincent, "A couple of wires short circuited inside. You could get an electric shock."  
"Easy! Easy!" replied Cloud as the man staggered against him, "Okay, I got you. Sheesh, you're really heavy, you know that?"  
"Th..there's a metal tool box in one of the kitchen cupboards," Vincent instructed patiently, "Could you please get it for me, Cloud?"  
"Sure, sure! you just take it nice and slow!"  
Cloud dragged Vincent away from the anxious girls, grunting under the burdensome weight but trying to appear unconcerned. Aeris wanted beyond anything to go after them, but guessed she'd only get in the way. She remained behind.  
Her distressed eyes followed the two men until they disappeared into the living room. heaving a sigh, she rubbed her weary temples; all her strength had finally evaporated.  
Suddenly, Tifa gripped her arm and swung the girl around. She peered into Aeris' frightened face, feeling immense rage boiling in her heart. She compressed her lips tightly; her eyes flashed fire. Indeed, Aeris could foresee an imminent rebuke.  
"Aeris!! You silly, silly girl!!" Tifa burst out, "Why'd you run away like that, huh?!"  
"Tifa..I.."  
"I nearly got a heart attack!! Do you know how WORRIED I was?! how worried we all were?!!"  
Aeris, overwhelmed with guilt, hung her head and could not answer. Tifa stared intently at her, her eyes welling up with angry tears.  
"Do you know that Vincent spent THREE hours in the rain looking for you!  
And Cloud went berserk when I told him what happened!!"  
Aeris dared not breathe a word of protest. An awkward silence fell on the two girls. Tifa still glared accusingly at Aeris, who felt her heart flood with shame. She could not bear her friend's anger.  
Aeris opened her mouth to reply, but Tifa suddenly threw her arms around her and embraced her with all her might, as if she could shield her from all danger. She buried her face into the girl's neck, trembling whenever a sob escaped her. Aeris, at a complete loss, stood perfectly still.  
"Damn it, Aeris!" cursed Tifa with a quivering voice, "What if those thugs killed you? What if Vincent hadn't found you in time? What then?!"  
Aeris cringed in fear as the image of that horrible gunman floated into her mind: yes, what if Vincent hadn't found her in time? What then?  
"I'm sorry, Tifa," faltered Aeris pitifully, "I..I guess.. I just got so scared..I could only think about running away.."  
Tifa lifted her head and looked searchingly at Aeris' sad face. though her eyes glittered with tears, she had somehow managed to check her emotions.  
"You thought that professor had found you?" she asked gently.  
"Y..yes..I thought..that he would catch me again..and he'd.."  
"Sh! Sh! You little scardey-cat," whispered Tifa compassionately as she hugged the girl again, "no one's gonna get you. You're safe now. You're safe."  
Aeris rested her head on Tifa's shoulder, feeling all her previous fears melt away with a new sense of security. the Professor, the gunman, the danger, they all faded away into oblivion; only her safety, her friends remained behind, and they warmed her heart to the very core.  
"Heh heh," chuckled Tifa after a moment. She held Aeris at arm's length,  
smiling delightedly at her.  
"Wh..what's so funny?" asked Aeris nervously.  
"Oh, I remembered what you were telling me just hours ago. Y'know, about how much you thought Vincent hated you."  
Aeris blinked in confusion; that conversation seemed years ago. She recalled shouting at Vincent all those nasty insults; that he couldn't understand anything; and that he hated her beyond anything.  
But he wasn't angry when she insulted him. He said he understood her better than anyone else.  
And he didn't hate her at all. Far from it, he said he felt "concern" for her.  
"I told you he didn't hate you," sad Tifa, interrupting her thoughts,  
"When I told what happened, he rushed out in the freezing rain to find you.  
He didn't even hesitate!"  
Yes, continued Aeris internally, and saved my life too. He didn't hesitate that time either.  
"I'm curious," remarked Tifa, "Was he angry when he found you? What did he say?"  
All of Vincent's words instantly cluttered Aeris' brain: from the moment he touched her arm at the Haunt, to the minute the staggered into the apartment.  
  
-end of chapter 9 But Aeris held his words firmly to her bosom, refusing to share them. She felt they were meant for her ears alone. They provided a strange comfort that only Vincent and she could understand.  
"Nothing," muttered Aeris in a low voice, "He said nothing."  
Tifa looked strangely at the girl. Perhaps she detected a tone of slight irritation in her voice; or maybe because Aeris had turned her head away uncomfortably.  
"Well, anyway," Tifa replied at length, "What matters now is you're here and safe."  
Aeris nodded her head slowly.  
"You go take a shower, and change your wet clothes. We don't want you catching a cold.Go on."  
Tifa, with a warm smile, escorted her to the bathroom. She promised to fetch Aeris her towel and dry clothes when she would finish; Aeris thanked her for her kindness.  
  
"Dinner should be ready in an hour," said Tifa as she closed the door,  
"It'll make us all feel much better"  
-End of Chp.9  
  
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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	8. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields- Chapter 10  
  
The fresh, clean water had literally revived Aeris' mind. She stepped out of the bathroom, clothed in a warm dress, and took a deep breath of air.  
Her whole body seemed rejuvenated; the water had washed away all her worries down the drain.  
She flapped her towel twice, then wrapped it around her shoulders. Her long brown hair fell in wet, loose coils all around her head. Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she wondered where everyone was.  
The clear sound of the TV in the living room instantly caught her attention. After some hesitation, she wandered down the hall, and turned nervously into the living room.  
Everyone was there. Cloud, with both hands in his pockets, followed the words of the TV very carefully. Tifa stood near him; she was completely absorbed as well.  
Vincent, on the other hand, sat gloomily on the couch, paying no heed to the troublesome television. He had washed his dirty face and changed his tattered clothes while Aeris had been bathing. She could see him bent over his damaged arm with grave interest, but could not guess what he was doing.  
The TV suddenly blared out some incoherent jabber as it flashed a few times. Vincent squeezed his eyes in annoyance, but managed to control himself in time.  
"Cloud!" he ordered with restraint, "Turn that down! I can't concentrate!"  
"Oh, sorry man," apologized Cloud, "Hey, Aeris! Sit down! Sit down!  
Something BIG just happened!"  
Indeed, both Cloud and Tifa seemed excitedly glued to the TV. Tifa occasionally gasped in surprise, but Cloud hushed her to listen.  
Sitting next to Vincent, Aeris' eyes wandered to his metallic arm. Much to her horror, she noticed the top cover of his arm propped open, displaying all sorts of colored wires, circuits, and other strange "gadgets" inside.  
Vincent fumbled in a small tool box near his feet, pulling out a pair of pliers. He dug them deep into his arm, twisted them around, then ruthlessly yanked a sparkling wire out of his claw. He flung it away contemptuously.  
With a muffled curse, Vincent picked up a slender black pin from the tool box, and began fiddling inside his metallic arm. His face expressed deep solemnity mixed with vexation. Yet he continued to repair his arm,  
oblivious to the bothersome television.  
He glanced askance at Aeris, who gave an involuntary start on meeting his bloody-red eyes. However, Vincent instantly reverted his attention on his arm again, taking no more notice of her.  
"Oh!" exclaimed Tifa loudly, "Here it comes!"  
Aeris shifted her eyes to the television, still not understanding the cause of all the excitement. A young woman appeared on the screen with a slightly nervous face.  
"And now for breaking news," began the announcer importantly, "A most violent explosion ripped through the former ShinRa headquarters. It occurred in Sector 1 of Midgar, at around 6:30 this evening."  
Aeris nearly fell off the couch in alarm. She stared incredulously as images of the devastated building flickered across the screen. Her head suddenly darted back to Vincent, but he seemed more interested in shoving a fuse inside his arm. He did not even raise his eyes to look.  
"The whole friggin' building's blown apart!" commented Cloud amazedly,  
"Look! Even the base is wiped out!"  
"That must've been one Hell of an explosion!" added Tifa in awe.  
"The police at first believed this was a terrorist attack," resumed the young announcer, "however, many people are reporting they heard heavy gunshots shortly before the explosion. Now police believe that a fight between two rival street gangs caused the explosion."  
Aeris sat perfectly still, not daring to lift her eyes. Vincent gracefully twisted a wire around his fingers, and began hooking it inside his arm,  
scarcely paying attention to the disturbing news.  
The announcer explained that a pipe in the upper wall had accidentally been blasted away, causing the entire wall to collapse. However, this pipe also served as some gasket full of an extremely reactive, pungent gas.  
"Police add that this gas reacted with the air, and caused the explosion and fire," she concluded.  
Tifa and Cloud exchanged more brief comments about the incident before the announcer continued.  
"Police have anxiously searched the entire blast site for survivors, even under the wall debris. They assure everyone that, luckily, nobody was present when the actual explosion occurred."  
Vincent's hand stopped abruptly, as struck by lightning. Aeris looked apprehensively at the screen, then at Vincent's face. He stared blankly at the television, obviously not believing his ears: he was sure Davoren had perished under the wall.  
"Yeesh!" said Cloud in disgust, "These gangsters are getting pretty nasty...not to mention dangerous!"  
He began flicking through the other channels in search of some comedy show. Tifa suddenly remembered the dinner, and skipped out of the room to set the table.  
Aeris still gazed at Vincent, her heart growing sick with worry. He sat broodingly over his metallic arm for a minute, completely lost in thought,  
but quickly resumed repairing his arm. He said nothing.  
"'ShinRa Headquarters'?" remarked Cloud, turning to Vincent, "say, isn't that near the place where you got into a fight?"  
"Yes," answered Vincent mechanically.  
"Well, it's a good thing Vincent found you, Aeris," smiled Cloud at the girl, "You could've wandered into that dangerous place without even knowing it!"  
She fidgeted uncomfortably, muttering a faint "yes" in reply.  
"I wanted to go look for you too," he continued, "but Tifa said I'd be better off fixing the door she busted."  
Aeris nodded her head slowly to acknowledge his kindness.  
"So, how's your arm, Vincent?" Cloud asked light-heartedly.  
"I can move my thumb and index finger now," replied Vincent dryly. Though he obviously had no interest in talking to Cloud, he twitched his two iron fingers to show his success.  
"Hey, you're a pretty good mechanic!" praised Cloud, "Wait...I thought you were a gunsmith."  
"I am."  
"Then how do you know what all those little gizmos and diddly-bops do?"  
"Well, obviously," Vincent answered sarcastically, "I'd know how to handle and repair my own arm, Cloud. It is a part of my body, after all."  
"You any good with motorbikes? See, mine got busted last week, and I.."  
Vincent glared menacingly at him, as though he would murder him on the spot if he continued to annoy him. Cloud, perceiving that his friend wasn't in his best mood, wisely decided to retreat.  
"Um...right," he laughed nervously, "I'd better go...help Tifa...Yeah!"  
Cloud scurried out of the living room. Vincent and Aeris were left alone.  
The two were very silent. Aeris stared vacantly at Vincent's metallic arm as he resumed the repairs. He pulled out damaged wires, fiddled with  
  
control mechanisms, tested the movement of his fingers, yet would not look at anything else except his battered claw.  
Digging a slender, thin file into his arm, he began to carefully pick at some device embedded inside. Suddenly, a wild spark zapped his meddling hand, angry at the rude intrusion. Vincent jerked his hand away in pain,  
and flung the file to the ground.  
"Ah..shit..," he growled in an undertone. He licked his burnt fingers with obvious impatience.  
"Here, let me help you," suggested Aeris kindly. She picked up the forsaken file, then placed it back in his hand.  
Vincent gazed at her for a full minute with a most thoughtful, serious expression on his face. Though she grew increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutinizing eyes, Aeris refused to shrink away from him as before.  
"How..how are you now?" she inquired softly, looking directly into his eyes to show her courage.  
"I'm fine," he replied, "..and you?"  
"Much better."  
His musing eyes lingered on her for another moment before he restarted the tedious repairs. An uneasy silence fell on them again.  
Aeris glanced quickly all around her, then suddenly reached for Vincent's hand, which froze solid at her warm touch.  
"Tell me," she whispered beseechingly, "what that man said back there..about that 'Turk' bit. Was it..true?"  
Vincent's whole face darkened mournfully as she pressed his hand for an honest reply. After a brief silence, he reluctantly closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, preparing himself for a long explanation.  
"Do you know that place we were at today?" he began solemnly.  
"The 'ShinRa Headquarters'?"  
He nodded his head, then continued, "ShinRa used to be an extremely powerful company, controlled by a president. This president had this 'special task force', bodyguards called 'the Turks'."  
"And you..?"  
"Yes. I was a Turk in ShinRa."  
The statement sounded very blunt, if not emotionless, to Aeris, as if to say "so what if it's true?". She stole another glance at the door, then drew his hand near her body, looking intently into his face. Vincent did not pull his hand away, but persistently held onto the slender file, and would not return her anxious gaze.  
"What about that man..Davoren?" she asked nervously. The very recollection of his face filled her heart with unimaginable dread.  
"Oh, him," Vincent muttered, "He was the leader of the Turks when I joined ShinRa."  
"He was..a friend of yours?"  
"In a way, yes. He was..but.."  
He suddenly shifted his keen eyes to her, speaking in an extremely subdued voice.  
"Davoren died, or at least I thought he had died, a long time ago. I..I shot him in the head..with a gun."  
Aeris stared blankly at his face for a long time, trying to grasp his strange meaning. Vincent turned his head away slowly, and plunged into silent, moody meditation.  
"But..how?!" she wondered, interrupting his thoughts, "If you're so sure he died, then how could he.."  
"I don't know Aeris, but what worries me is that..this Davoren..he hasn't aged at all, even though it's been thirty-one years since I last saw him."  
Aeris fixed her green eyes on his face to make sure she didn't miss a single syllable, even though she hardly understood any of his "confusing riddles". Vincent twiddled with the file as he narrowed his eyed in profound contemplation.  
"his hair and his eye color have changed dramatically, I'll grant him that," he murmured to himself, "but his face, Aeris, his actual face hasn't even changed a wrinkle. it's exactly as young as it was thirty-one  
  
years ago."  
He focused his eyes on his half-fixed arm, twirling the hapless tool between his fingers all the time. The girl squirmed nervously next to him.  
She could not think of any answer; his musings simply made no sense to her.  
"I have only one explanation," Vincent concluded "he must've underwent the same experiment I did."  
Vincent knitted his brows, then attacked his metallic arm with the file,  
as if stabbing some invisible enemy. He vigorously resumed repairing it,  
preferring to wallow privately in his own thoughts, but a gentle touch on his arm halted him again.  
"What..what experiment?" whispered Aeris. she stared anxiously into his face, with her hand clinging to his arm.  
"When I worked in ShinRa, there was this professor in the science department, named Hojo," he explained patiently, "I didn't exactly understand his reasons, but Hojo performed some experiment on my body..'corporal alterations', shall we say."  
"Is that how you got.."  
"My claw?" he said, finishing her hesitant sentence, "Heh, believe me,  
this arm is the best thing I got out of the experiment."  
He suddenly shifted his whole body towards her, and stared feverishly into her wondering eyes. Aeris would've moved back, except that she was already cornered at the end of the sofa.  
"But, it's been thirty-one years since I underwent that experiment,  
Aeris," he muttered mysteriously. Aeris blinked in confusion, but dared not take her eyes off him for a second. She tightened the towel around her shoulders to stop shaking; his strange tone frightened her beyond anything else she had experienced that day.  
"How..is that possible?" she faltered, "I don't understand.."  
"The experiment inhibited all the growth factors in my body, and readjusted their chemical balance to adapt to the new, various alterations,"  
Vincent answered automatically, as if reciting some lesson.  
Aeris stared at him with a most confused, distressed look troubling her beautiful face. She hadn't understood a single word he had said.  
"What does..that mean?" she stammered.  
"It means I stopped aging thirty-one years ago, just like Davoren."  
Aeris sat upright, thus bringing her face very close to his. She frantically studied every feature of his pale face, finally resting on his gleaming, ruby-red eyes. neither uttered a word.  
"But..your face!" she forced out in disbelief, "You don't.."  
"It's just an illusion, Aeris," he whispered softly, "This face, this body, it's all an illusion."  
Yes, Vincent, he reflected sarcastically, you're nothing but a monster in human form. An illusion to fool everyone.  
They stared at each other for a few seconds until Aeris finally turned her head away from him, completely overwhelmed with her emotions. Vincent, who still face her, cast his eyes down. Different thoughts crammed his mind all at once and rudely pushed each other to the side; he could not settle on any particular one.  
"then..is Davoren working for Hojo?" Aeris asked weakly. Her heart felt sick with worry, "Is Hojo the same professor who's after me?"  
"I don't know about that either, Aeris.."  
She grew extremely silent.  
"Hojo..injected himself with some bio-chemical mutagen that completely changed his body," Vincent continued deliberately, "We killed him a year ago, but I wouldn't be surprised if somehow managed to survive."  
He noticed her hands tremble under the towel. Though he looked intently at her again, Aeris seemed to stare at something visible to her alone.  
"And if he's really after you," he finished, "then he'll stop at nothing to get you."  
The sentence was passed, and her fate sealed. Davoren had somehow survived the explosion, she knew, and would undoubtedly find her again. Then what?  
He'd just drag her away..back to the Professor.  
I don't want to go back there, her mind cried in disgust, I don't want to!! I don't want to!  
So many foreboding feeling, emotions, and thoughts bombarded the poor girl's head from all directions. Her eyes constantly shot from one end of the room to the other, expecting to find both Davoren and the Professor hiding in some obscure corner. The deathly stillness only annoyed her further.  
Vincent looked significantly at the troubled girl, yet she did not seem to notice his presence anymore; her fears had entirely engrossed her. He slowly drew his arm around her and leaned her body against himself.  
Although Aeris submissively nestled her head against his shoulder, she shook with sickening agitation.  
His arm enveloped her securely, as though it would protect her from the eyes of the hateful Professor.  
But even Vincent knew he could not totally shield her from that invisible creature. It seemed to lurk in every shadow, ready to pounce on her at the mention of its mane. Wherever she turned, it laughed silently at her pathetic helplessness. It simply revelled in her misery.  
Vincent knew every emotion Aeris felt at that moment only too well: how many times had himself trudged through them, over a period of thirty years?  
Yet it pained him to the girl suffer from the same agonizing fears, and even more that he could not erase any of them.  
"Aeris! Vincent!" called Tifa from the kitchen, "Dinnertime!!"  
Aeris instantly pulled herself away from Vincent, hesitating to look up at him for a few seconds. But soon, a warm smile crept to her lips, and she found herself giggling softly as she turned to Vincent.  
"Heh heh..are you sure we shouldn't tell them about any of this?" she whispered slyly.  
"I don't want to get either of them involved," he answered with a calm voice, "It would only complicate matters."  
Aeris nodded her head understandingly, then bounced onto her feet vigorously. She stood infront of him, her entire face beaming with delight.  
Vincent was quite surprised: he hadn't expected to be so successful at comforting her.  
But, in truth, he had done so much more to Aeris. He didn't know that when he had embraced her, he had embraced her fears and sadness as well.  
And as long as he remained by her side, that burden did not feel so heavy on her heart anymore.  
"Vincent," Aeris smiled kindly," I..I owe you more than my life..after all that happened today. Thank you"  
He gazed directly into her face, but before he could open his mouth, Tifa poked her head through the door.  
"Hey, you two!" she cried playfully, "Better come 'n get your share!  
Before Cloud gobbles it all up!"  
"Ha ha!" shouted Cloud from the hallway, "Very funny!"  
"Alright, alright! I'm coming," laughed Aeris, skipping out of the living room.  
"You too, Mr. Valentine!" demanded Tifa. She yanked him to his feet, "I cooked this stuff for YOU, and you're gonna eat it!"  
So with that final order, Tifa dragged the unresisting Vincent out of the room, barely giving him time to close the top cover of his metallic arm.  
-End of Chp.10  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	9. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields 11...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.11  
  
The darkness suffocated Vincent's entire body, yet he didn't really care.  
He only felt slightly annoyed because he couldn't see anything.  
  
"Strange, isn't it?" chirped a soft voice near him.  
  
"What is?" he wondered.  
  
"How you could go on living with that young face, even though it should have withered away years ago."  
  
"Yes..it should have," he agreed.  
  
There was an eerie silence that seemed to stretch on forever.  
  
"But still more strange," commented another voice suddenly, "that you could live among normal people as though you yourself were normal."  
  
"I never claimed to be normal."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
He scoffed at the stupid question.  
  
"Because I'm a monster," he answered simply.  
  
"A monster!" A monster!" chimed several voices out of nowhere, "You are a monster!"  
  
So many cruel voices burst into chaos: they cackled, wailed, jeered, and screamed into ears all at once. His head throbbed painfully as the deranged voices squeezed into his mind, each demanding his full attention.  
  
"A MONSTER!" they shrieked as they strangled him, "A MONSTER! A MONSTER!"  
  
Vincent suddenly woke up from his nightmare.  
  
Much to his amazement, he found himself seated by a window in some crowded train. He stared blankly all around himself, scrutinizing every detail his eyes stumbled across. He heard two young women gossiping behind him;  
several passengers lingered near the iron doors, murmuring softly amongst themselves. There was a drunkard snoring loudly two seats ahead of Vincent,  
and a little urchin stealthily picking that man's pocket.  
  
Yet, try as hard as he may, Vincent could not remember how or why he had boarded this train. Indeed, his whole mind felt so muddled, he simply fell back against his seat in exhaustion. He did not care anymore.  
  
"I say, Sir," asked a kind voice, "Are you alright?"  
  
Vincent opened his eyes to find an old man comfortably seated infront of him. The man appeared to be very concerned.  
  
"You look very tired," smiled the old gentleman, "Hard day at work?"  
  
Vincent's memory slowly floated back to him: he remembered feeling very sick that morning, but had insisted on going to work at the gun shop anyway.  
The day had drifted away like any other, and now he was returning home on the usual train.  
  
I must have dozed off without even realizing it, Vincent thought tiredly.  
  
"I myself had a most exhausting day," continued the good-natured old man,  
"I had to babysit my grand-daughter at my son's house. They live way over in Sector 6."  
  
Vincent nodded his head thoughtfully.  
  
"Ah! Kids," chuckled the man, tapping his cane knowledgeably, "What a handful they are, especially for us old folk."  
  
Vincent studied every feature of the old man: from his wrinkled face to his trembling hands. He noted the tufts of grey hair that clung to the man's head. He traced his hunched up figure with his weary eyes until he reached his spotty, wrinkled forehead.  
  
He must be very old, mused Vincent.  
  
"But I must declare, young man," prattled on the friendly gentleman, "I never saw such.."  
  
Vincent did not hear the rest of the complaint. The words "young man" set his mind adrift in spite of himself. He stared absent-mindedly at the old man's moving mouth, his brain revolving those two strange words over and over again; they disgusted his heart beyond endurance.  
  
Maybe this is how I should have been, Vincent wondered bitterly: babysit my grand-daughter on some lazy afternoon; walk around with a cane in my hands; wake up every morning to look at my wrinkled, old face in the mirror..  
  
But no...instead, I'm a "young man"...  
  
"You're so lucky, Vincent," whispered a mocking voice into his ears,  
"nobody can see what's really behind that mask you wear.."  
  
Vincent gave a start on hearing that familiar voice. He sat upright,  
looking all around himself to find the speaker. The train had emptied significantly during his reverie, but otherwise, nothing else had changed.  
He had imagined the voice.  
  
"..that's what I said," concluded the old man, startling Vincent with his booming voice, "What do you think of that?"  
  
"Uh..yes..," he agreed, even though he hadn't listened at all.  
  
"Ha ha!" laughed the old man delightedly, "Not many young people agree with me on that point."  
  
The man chattered away about some miscellaneous topic. Vincent leaned his head against the foggy window as he stared vacantly at the talkative companion. He could not understand any of his words, nor did he care to.  
  
"Well, here's my stop," smiled the kind-hearted gentleman, "Good-bye,  
son."  
  
The train screeched to a halt. Its large doors lazily withdrew to release the passengers trapped within. Vincent helped the shaking old man to his feet, and handed him his inseparable cane. The gentleman thanked him warmly, declaring that "the young still respected the old", then tottered away with a smile.  
  
Vincent sunk against his seat again when the train finally resumed its journey. Silence dominated the entire place, except for the rude snores of the drunkard at the end of the cart.  
  
Vincent mechanically rubbed the misty window next to him, and stared gloomily through the glass. The sun had disappeared long ago, yet some of its golden rays still lingered over the grey city, very reluctant to abandon it.  
  
Black, sooty buildings and banal offices rolled past Vincent's hollow eyes, interrupted occasionally by a colorful billboard or some gaudy poster. So many bright lights flashed across his pale face, crying for his attention.  
  
However, he merely passed them by in an almost trance-like state. Though he tried to busy himself with any useless subject, his mind always returned to the same melancholy thoughts.  
  
I wonder, Vincent asked himself, I wonder if that old man..is what I should've been like..  
  
But no voice answered him that time.  
  
At around 6 o'clock in the evening, Vincent staggered into his apartment,  
then slammed the door behind him. As he tossed his burdensome overcoat on a hanger, he felt his whole face and eyes blaze furiously with fever. Vincent slumped against the door, rubbing his forehead to relieve a throbbing headache. His breath quickened; his head swam around.  
  
Damn it, he growled, am I that sick?!  
  
"Vincent?" called a gentle voice near him.  
  
He gave a violent start when Aeris touched his arm, as if caught in the middle of a crime. The girl instantly yanked her hand away, and stared oddly into his pallid face, wondering what troubled him.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked softly. Her eyes tensed with concern.  
  
"Yes," mumbled Vincent, "Yes..I'm fine."  
  
And to prove it, he straightened himself infront of her. Small droplets of sweat trickled down his face, but he contemptuously wiped them away. His eyes strained every nerve to avoid her anxious look. Indeed, Vincent's entire countenance betrayed such agitation and annoyance, Aeris hesitated to speak a word.  
  
"Yo, Vincent!" greeted another friendly voice. It was Cloud, who had been visiting Aeris that particular afternoon. Tifa, unfortunately, could not come with him; she had to work at the restaurant.  
  
"Hello, Cloud," muttered Vincent under his breath.  
  
"Aeris was getting pretty worried about you," laughed Cloud with a pat on his friend's shoulder, "but I told her not to freak out if you're late a bit. Trains can be a bit sluggish, especially around rush-hour."  
  
It took Vincent all his strength, patience, and self-control to force out a "yes" instead of a horrible oath. Luckily, Cloud did not notice his friend's discomfort, but perceived that he was withdrawn more than usual.  
  
"Say, Vincent, are you alright?" he inquired; he felt very uneasy with the man's moroseness.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, it's just that you look kinda pale."  
  
"Are you making fun of me, Cloud?" asked Vincent, glaring suspiciously at him.  
  
"Huh? Oh no!" he cried, ".I..I didn't mean it like that! I meant to say you look paler than usual."  
  
Vincent frowned, not at all amused. Cloud scratched the back of his head in genuine embarrassment; he immediately realized that his friend was "in another one of his weird mood swings", so decided to retreat.  
  
"Right, it's getting late," he smiled good-humouredly at Aeris, who had been lingering behind him, "I'd better get going."  
  
Vincent mumbled something like a farewell, then brushed past the two friends in a most abrupt manner.  
  
"Take care, Aeris," Cloud warned when Vincent had disappeared into the kitchen, "He's in a really rotten mood. He must've had a bad day."  
  
Aeris nodded her head feebly. An extremely ominous feeling crept up her heart.  
  
"We ordered a pizza, Vincent!" shouted Cloud as he grabbed his heavy coat,  
"It's in the over. We saved you three slices! Hope you like pepperoni!"  
  
No reply came, nor did Cloud expect any.  
  
He wrapped the coat around himself hurriedly. Aeris handed him his scarf,  
reminding him not to forget it like last time.  
  
"Oh yeah. Thanks," he laughed, "Well, see ya later. G'night."  
  
"Good night," she smiled in return. Aeris shut the door gently after Cloud left.  
  
An unnatural, deathly silence slithered through the apartment the instant the door closed. Aeris stood nervously in the dim hallway, not daring to disturb the stillness. But her concern for Vincent swelled to such an unbearable pitch, she immediately tottered down the hallway to find him.  
  
She found him seated in the kitchen. He had both elbows firmly rooted to the table top while his ashen face sought refuge in his hand and claw. He had torn off his red bandanna, so his long, jet black hair fell all around his head in thick strands.  
  
Vincent sat perfectly still; he seemed almost oblivious to his surroundings. Aeris paused by the door, wondering should she interrupt him or leave him in peace.  
  
Vincent slowly lifted his head to glance at the anxious girl, but soon plunged back into his own gloomy thoughts.  
  
An icy silence followed.  
  
"Aeris?" he called in a hoarse whisper. He did not look at her.  
  
"Wh..what is it?" Aeris answered gently.  
  
"I'm very tired. I'm going to take a nap in the living room."  
  
Vincent mechanically stood up. He pushed his lustrous hair with a flick of his hand, then staggered out of the kitchen. Aeris instantly made room for him to pass.  
  
"V..Vincent?" she asked timidly.  
  
He stopped and turned his careworn face to her.  
  
"Don't sleep on the couch," she pleaded in a low voice, "please, sleep on the bed."  
  
"Aeris, I can't do that," he protested weakly, "That's where you sleep."  
  
"No, no, it's okay! Really," she insisted, "You take your nap on the bed.  
It's only for a short time, right?"  
  
After further protests and entreaties, Vincent finally accepted the kind offer. Therefore, without another word, he dragged his dead feet into the bedroom, then gently closed the door behind him.  
  
Aeris' eyes followed him all the way until he had shut himself inside.  
She wandered back to the kitchen, trying to gather all her scattered thoughts. A red cloth on the table immediately grabbed her attention: it was Vincent's bandanna. Picking it up, Aeris examined it with a mixture of curiosity and concern.  
  
A week had already passed since that harrowing fight with Davoren. Aeris woke up every morning, anticipating a sudden attack any minute. But the days calmly rolled by, and still no sign of the gunman.  
  
Although the girl constantly worried herself about Davoren, Vincent had resumed his daily routine with such indifference, she wondered whether he had completely forgotten Davoren. He either read a book, repaired some gun,  
or did both at the same time.  
  
He was morose, as always, but sometimes invited the timid Aeris to sit by him and tell him about her afternoon with her friends. Aeris knew for a fact he did not care a fig about those trivial matters. Nevertheless, he made an effort to listen, which greatly pleased her heart. She guessed he was just trying to make her more easy around his presence.  
  
Yet during the last three days, she had noticed alarming changes in Vincent: he scarcely ate at all; his disturbed eyes burned feverishly; he seemed to detect some invisible force about the room. He grew strangely distant and aloof, even more than before.  
  
"Oh, he's just being himself, Aeris," Tifa had assured the girl.  
  
"Yeah, Vincent can get pretty crabby at times," Cloud had agreed, "Just stay outta his way."  
  
But they couldn't see, like she could, the turmoil raging in his mind. And every day, every hour, it grew more intense.  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.12  
  
Vincent, finally alone in the bedroom, flung himself on the soft bed.  
fatigue had completely overpowered him; he did not even bother removing his muddy boots off his feet.  
  
As he gradually sunk into unconsciousness, he set his mind sailing away in a chaotic, wild sea of thoughts. At times, he found himself arguing fiercely about some abstract idea; other times, he thought of nothing at all.  
  
Time dragged on. Vincent shifted to his side, burying his sickly face into the pillow. Though he felt incredibly suffocated and hot, his whole body never stopped shivering. His restless mind drifted in all directions until it finally settled on the image of the old gentleman on the train.  
Vincent lingered over that memory with strange, almost absurd, fascination.  
  
"that man was so old!" he whispered to himself in wonder, "his face looked like a crumpled piece of paper."  
  
Whether he expected some response, or simply had grown tired of the dreary silence, Vincent gently peeked out of his pillow. Sweat broke out all over his body as bouts of violent shivering seized him.  
  
his ears discerned an unnatural buzz behind the door, as if several people were whispering and humming cautiously. His bloodshot eyes darted all over the dark room, then fixed themselves rigorously on the door.  
  
"He couldn't even stand up without his cane," Vincent continued archly,  
"And he trembled so much..poor man.."  
  
The faint murmurings behind the door grew louder, but still, Vincent could not distinguish one voice. He buried his face into the pillow again,  
greatly agitated.  
  
"I wonder..," he muttered, "..I wonder if that's how I should look like..."  
  
He suddenly rolled onto his back, and stared wild-eyed at the black ceiling.  
  
"No..," he answered with a cold grin, "No..I should have black wings sprouting out of my back..yes..and fangs dripping with blood too.."  
  
"A monster! A monster!" squealed the disorderly voices behind the door,  
"Oh! A monster!"  
  
"A monster..yes..," Vincent agreed, smiling more coldly, "..yes..nothing but a monster in human form..just like Davoren said.."  
  
The tumultuous voices gabbled away behind the door. Vincent's chest heaved up and down in sharp pain; he could feel his blood burbling inside. The rowdy sounds not only drowned his ears, they seemed to strangle his very life.  
  
"heh heh..," he chuckled amidst the deranged voices, "Y'know, Davoren saved my life once..strange how I never thought of him until now.."  
  
The voices cackled and cawed rudely: some even screamed through the keyhole. As the heat became unbearable, Vincent finally tore open his stiff collar, but still gazed at the plain ceiling. his breaths grew short.  
  
"But then again," he gasped out, "why is it so strange? I was a monster then..I'm a monster still. What difference would it make if I hide behind this mask?"  
  
The voices suddenly fell back to a hushed, faint murmur.  
  
"So what if..it's just..an..illusion..?"  
  
His eyelids steadily grew heavy; his head sunk deeper into the warm pillow. Everything swirled around his weary head in utter chaos, not sure where to go.  
  
"He's so angry," hissed a malicious voice into his ears, "He must finish!  
He must!"  
  
But Vincent lost conscious before the voice finished.  
  
Though Vincent was semi-aware of his surroundings as he lay on the bed, he could not induce any of his muscles to move an inch.  
  
He heard someone cautiously slip into the room. He knew that stranger was peering over him, but his eyes stubbornly refused to open. After a minute,  
Vincent felt somebody gently pulling off his heavy boots. The same person pulled the blankets from underneath him with great care, then covered him.  
  
Whoever that was soon left, shutting the door softly. Vincent was alone again.  
  
But his interest in his surroundings gradually faded. He floated as gently as a feather through some grim dream world, fluttering with puff of wind.  
He passed so many forgotten memories, details, and faces; but whenever he reached for them, they instantly vanished into this air.  
  
"Do you remember what happened in the apple orchard?" laughed a sweet voice out of the darkness.  
  
"Yes," Vincent replied monotonously, "I killed Davoren there.."  
  
"And do you remember what happened in the library?"  
  
"Yes..I was shot there...by the professor.."  
  
He felt two soft hands caress his cheeks tenderly. They were exceedingly cold.  
  
"Ah," whispered the gentle voice, " but he preserved your life, didn't he?"  
  
Vincent let out a short, wooden laugh.  
  
"I never had a 'life'," Vincent corrected, "I was just a cold-hearted killing-machine, made of flesh instead of steel."  
  
the soothing hands withdrew from his bloodless cheeks.  
  
"He never preserved my 'life'," Vincent raved on, "He only preserved my body.."  
  
There was an eerie silence.  
  
"And sometimes..," Vincent sighed bitterly, "..sometimes I wish he hadn't.."  
  
"Yes! Yes!" shrieked another voice, mad with excitement, "Yes! Your life bears no significance! Even you confess it!!"  
  
The insane voice swirled around Vincent, screamed shrilly into his ears,  
"it's your body!! Your body was preserved for a purpose!!"  
  
"Was it?" Vincent commented calmly, somewhat bored with the wild voice.  
  
"It's for an experiment," ranted the impatient voice, "An experiment where all the little pieces fuse together!"  
  
"What 'experiment'?!" asked Vincent in alarm.  
  
An invisible hand suddenly cut him short. It gripped his throat and squeezed his windpipe with all its might. Another hand dug its sharp claw deep into his lungs, tearing it to shreds.  
  
Vincent fought in vain for his life. Despite his vigorous struggle to break free, the iron grip only tightened and tightened until he could breath no more.  
  
Vincent suddenly woke up from the nightmare.  
  
As he sat up in bed, he could hear someone roaring with laughter from behind the bedroom door. He stared deliriously at the door, expecting the person to storm into his room. But the voice only doubled its hysterical laughter, and began blubbering to a group of dissentient voices.  
  
Vincent did not know how long he listened to the bustling voices. He sat perfectly still, allowing his disheveled hair to tumble around his haggard face. His crimson eyes shone brilliantly; sweat streamed down to soak his neck and shirt.  
  
"Hurry! Oh hurry!" shrieked a voice over all the commotion, "The Professor must finish his experiment! He's done yet!!"  
  
Vincent's eyes wandered all over the dark room, examining every obscure,  
black corner. He wanted to see this voice. His whole body shook with intense disgust.  
  
"He cannot finish!" gabbled the angry voice, "He wants you for the experiment...and that girl!! HE MUST HAVE HER!! HE MUST!!"  
  
Vincent thought he heard Aeris sobbing pitifully amidst all the yammering voices. she continuously begged someone to stop hurting her, but the booming laughter soon drowned her cries.  
  
"Poor little girl..," Vincent muttered as the voices babbled away, "He must be going mad about her..just itching to stuff needles into her body..and carve her to bits.."  
  
"Precious little darling..," hissed the voice near Vincent's ears, "He must..he WILL have her.."  
  
A cold, most grotesque smile distorted Vincent's lips.  
  
"..and she's such a sweet, innocent dove..,"he whispered, beside himself with delirium, "..so much like Lucrecia.."  
  
"Oh, she cannot hide from him!" thundered the malicious voice. It seemed to grope around the darkness, stumble over objects, even squirm under the bed, just to find the girl.  
  
Vincent fell back onto his pillow, and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. He placed one hand on his trembling chest as the voice rambled on. It amused him greatly to hear this voice splutter curses or mutter to itself in anger.  
  
"He can find her no matter where she hides!" the voice snarled, agitated with its dismal failure.  
  
"I'm sure he can," agreed Vincent weakly, "He simply wallows in her fear,  
doesn't he? If she trembles, he laughs; and if she runs, he follows."  
  
Vincent remained on his back, but slowly turned his head to look at the edge of the bed. Despite his painful headache and throbbing chest, he smiled insolently, almost defiantly, at the darkness. He seemed to detect some invisible creature peeking over the bed.  
  
"She reminds me of myself," he said, "..when you changed my body so many years ago.."  
  
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, or maybe several hours;  
Vincent had simply lost track of time.  
  
"Heh heh," sniggered the voice finally, "Is that way you try so hard to protect her from me?"  
  
"Yes..," replied Vincent, his smile fading away, "but there's another reason why I want to shield her away from you..a reason even I wouldn't admit to myself until now.."  
  
The voice seemed to linger around the bed, awaiting his mysterious "reason" with certain impatience.  
  
"It's because I felt that whenever I protected that girl..I was somehow protecting Lucrecia too.."  
  
The voice let out an impudent guffaw, then scoffed mockingly at the madman. Nevertheless, it sounded highly amused.  
  
"Yes, I'm cursed, Professor," Vincent raved bitterly, " Cursed with this odious mask I wear, but even more cursed with her..her and her unbearable reproaches!!"  
  
Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, then clutched his hair in agony; the headache was boring straight through his skull. He thought he heard the voice chuckle quietly at his suffering.  
  
"I hoped that if..," Vincent forced out, "..if I protected someone else as helpless as Lucrecia was.. maybe then, she'd forgive me for abandoning her.."  
  
The voice could no longer restrain itself; it burst out into a coarse,  
insulting laugh. The other discordant voices readily joined in.  
  
Vincent tiredly threw one arm over his eyes. The cruel voices only intensified his headache with their senseless screaming. They pierced his head, trampled all over his battered brain, then stormed away, only to return again. His chest writhed in sharp pain; he could feel it gurgling with hot blood.  
  
"What a sentimental fool you are!" exclaimed the voice contemptuously,  
"You think you can be forgiven/! You left her to suffer alone, and now you grovel, like the pathetic wretch you are, and cry for her forgiveness?!"  
  
Vincent kept his arm over his face. He did not flinch a muscle. All the other voices were silent too, afraid to interrupt their leader.  
  
"Answer me!" demanded the loud voice, "Do you think you DESERVE to be forgiven?!"  
  
Vincent deliberately removed his arm, and fixed his ruby-red eyes on the ceiling.  
  
"No," he replied composedly, "No matter what sufferings or pains I take, I know it cannot satisfy her...nor could it hope to erase the agony she bore..I don't deserve her forgiveness.."  
  
Vincent sat up in bad again, letting all the little voices whiz around his numb head. His corroded lungs howled in pain, as though they might explode any moment. He thought he heard Aeris wailing behind the door again. Absolute insanity glared at him from the foot of the bed, just waiting for the right moment to attack.  
  
"You could not protect her from me, Sir!" bellowed the voice hoarsely,  
"You can not protect this girl from me either! She's beyond your feeble reach!!"  
  
Vincent cast his eyes down in utter dejection. The voices sang jeeringly in his ears.  
  
"Why look at your hands," commanded the booming voice, "Look! What do you see?"  
  
He mechanically looked into the palm of his hand and claw. They were smeared with a dark red color.  
  
"..blood..," Vincent whispered stoically, "..I see blood.."  
  
"Whose blood?"  
  
"..mine..and hers..and Davoren's..and everyone else I've killed.."  
  
All the voices instantly screamed triumphantly, then dispersed to a wild murmur around him.  
  
"Oh yes! You're good at murdering, Vincent!!" praised the voice, "It comes so naturally to you! A monster AND a murderer!!"  
  
Vincent stared in wonder at his bloody hands, then covered his face again.  
He felt very cold all of a sudden.  
  
"It's your fault Lucrecia is dead!!" shouted several voices at once,  
"YOURS AND YOUR ALONE!"  
  
"I know..I know..," he cried, extremely agitated, "that's what I've been telling myself for the last thirty-one years.."  
  
"And you think you can protect that little girl?" jeered all the voices in a unanimous shout, "You, a monster, a murderer, and a hypocrite?!! You, a thousand sins to deform you?! YOU protect her from me?!!"  
  
All the voices swarmed around Vincent's head, screaming "monster! monster!"  
into his numb ears. He clutched his aching head as they forcefully squeezed themselves into his brain. He heard someone laughing hysterically; Aeris still sobbed behind the door; another babbled about going somewhere. Each voice tried its best to drown the other, none took pity on him.  
  
They drilled into his head until Vincent felt his throat suddenly gargle up some hot liquid: it was his own blood.  
  
With his hand over his mouth, he bolted out of the bedroom, and stormed into the bathroom across the hall. Kicking the toilet seat up, he bent over it, just as the rotten blood exploded out of his mouth.  
  
The dark, fuming liquid splashed indiscriminately all over the toilet,  
even dripped onto the floor. Vincent struggled vainly for air; two invisible claws seemed to mangle his lungs to force all the life out.  
  
He began to choke and hack violently on his own blood. His corroded lungs screamed for air, causing his entire body to writhe around the hapless toilet.  
  
Some maddening force tried to overpower his senses. Though Vincent fought wildly against it, his feeble strength drained away with his blood. Huge,  
purple wings ripped through his shaking back and spread clumsily over the bathroom. His hands, already half-deformed, twitched horribly as the skin darkened into a sickening, coarse purple color. He could feel his whole face contort into a hideous shape.  
  
He was warping into the hateful Chaos Form against his own will. The evil monster growled for its freedom, and seemed on the brink of eruption.  
  
"NO! NO! NO!!" screamed Vincent, squirming madly on the floor. He kicked his legs; stifled his breath; chewed his lower lip; anything to stop it!  
He would NOT transform into the creature!!  
  
He hurled all his strength, force, and determination against the beast to repress it. He somehow managed to withdraw the grotesque wings into his back. His skin returned to its normal pale color. The monster reluctantly retreated back into the darkness, and Vincent triumphed.  
  
When the attack had finally ceased, Vincent found himself on the bathroom floor, gasping loudly for air. His whole body burned with fever.  
  
Vincent stared all around the bathroom, completely dumbfounded: the toilet next to him dripped in his rotten, black blood. Much to his amazement, he noticed himself sitting in a pool of hot blood. his shirt was drenched in sweat and blood as well.  
  
The entire bathroom reeked of sickness and vomit. He still could not understand any of what had passed. After a silent moment, he scuffled up to his feet, then fell against the sink, almost slipping in the sticky blood.  
  
He gawked blankly at his image in the mirror above the sink. Large, red blots of blood smeared his pallid cheeks. His crimson eyes shone with insane delirium. His hair, tangled and disheveled beyond hope, hung in thick clusters all around his face.  
  
He looked like a perfect madman.  
  
Disgusted with his whole sickly appearance, especially his bloody mouth,  
Vincent gargled up the blood in his throat, then spat it out contemptuously.  
  
He mechanically turned open the faucet. The cold, soothing water flowed through his trembling fingers as he tried to cup his hand. Vincent scrubbed his mouth once or twice, but stopped short on noticing something else in the mirror: he finally noticed Aeris standing behind him, completely scared out of her wits.  
  
He did not feel guilty, troubled, or even angry. He stared calmly at her image in the mirror, then turned around to face the horrified girl. Leaning himself against the sink in an unnaturally composed manner, Vincent fixed his burning eyes on her. He said nothing.  
  
Aeris fidgeted by the doorway, too afraid to enter yet too alarmed to leave. Her hair looked terribly distorted, her face pale and distressed.  
She had obviously been sleeping.  
  
Perhaps she saw him vomit his blood all over the toilet; or caught him convulsing on the cold floor. Maybe she even saw him fight that loathsome transformation. Vincent's mouth twisted into a wry smile: he did not care what she had seen.  
  
"Ah, Aeris," he greeted in a terribly cracked, hoarse whisper. Aeris gave a violent start on hearing her name.  
  
"Heh heh..don't be frightened," he chuckled, "It's only blood." He touched his cold face in wonder, then added archly, "Blood suits my face better,  
don't you think?"  
  
Though she could not tear her anxious eyes away from him, she dared not answer the madman. His eyes sparkled with alarming insanity, and his bloody face only added to their brilliance.  
  
Vincent suddenly took a step forward, but froze when he noticed the girl recoil in fear. He stood in the middle of the bathroom, still gazing at her.  
His eyes slowly softened.  
  
"Poor little girl..," he muttered compassionately, "Why were you crying behind the door? Were you afraid I'd be angry if you came in?"  
  
Aeris blinked in confusion at him. She did not understand his meaning.  
  
"I..I wasn't crying behind the door, Vincent," she stammered in a low voice, " You've been having a nightmare..."  
  
"You were crying..," he repeated to himself, taking no more notice of her,  
"I must have frightened you..you're always afraid of me..."  
  
Aeris was silent. Vincent turned his head in many directions while constantly rubbing his forehead. He seemed greatly perplexed with his chaotic ideas.  
  
"You're probably more afraid of me that Hojo..," he raved on good-humouredly, "..not..not that I mind, really...you should be afraid of me.."  
  
He staggered out of the bathroom, scarcely seeing anything. His body shivered with fever and delirium. Aeris immediately made way for him to pass, not having enough courage to interrupt him.  
  
"Ha ha!" Vincent laughed as he dragged himself back to the bedroom, "..so much like her..she was always afraid of me too...so afraid of the monster..and blood..red blood..yes..."  
  
His mind floundered in a strange sea of mayhem. He could not remember where he was, or why his body felt so heavy. The air suffocated him. He could hear his heart thumping in him aching chest.  
  
Vincent stumbled over something, and seemed to be falling..falling...falling...  
  
Then suddenly, everything went black.  
  
-End of Chp. 12  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	10. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields 13

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.13 The telephone rang into Tifa's ears, dispersing all sweet sleep from her eyes.  
She mechanically pulled the blankets over her face in hopes the ringing may cease. Cloud snored soundly by her side, with one leg dangling outside the bed. He scratched his nose once at the rude disturbance, then shifted lazily to his side.  
The ringing persisted.  
"Tifa," he mumbled, "Answer that, will ya..?"  
Tifa rolled onto her back, grumbling under her breath about the laziness of the male gender (and not so politely, either). As she reached for the troublesome phone, she forced herself to sit up. It took her a great deal of strength just to keep her eyes open.  
"Hello...?"she yawned, "...Aeris?!"  
Tifa's face instantly grew alarmed. She tore off the warm blankets, and sprang out of bed.  
"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down!" she cried with increasing anxiety, "What's wrong with Vincent??"  
Cloud had fallen back to sleep, only half listening. But Tifa shook his shoulder so forcefully, he woke up with a sharp snort. Judging from her tense voice and shining eyes, Cloud immediately guessed something bad had happened. He sat up.  
"Oh, my God!!" Tifa exclaimed, "Okay! Okay! Um..don't panic!"  
She fidgeted anxiously, shushing Cloud whenever he tried to ask a question. She pressed her forehead to gather all her fluttering thoughts.  
"Now, Aeris! Aeris!" Tifa cried as she pushed back her messy hair, "Just calm down! Can he breathe??...okay... all right...yeah, I'll be there in fifteen minutes!"  
She slammed the phone shut, looked around, then flew to the closet at once. Cloud stared blankly at her fumble for her clothes, completely in a panic. He still could not understand any of the commotion.  
"What's the matter? What's going on?" he asked apprehensively. He hopped out of the bed and walked over to her.  
"Vincent's really sick," Tifa answered as she turned to face him. Her eyes showed great alarm. She looked very pale.  
"Aeris rang us at two am in the morning to tell us that?"  
Tifa frowned at his slightly mocking tone, but replied with restraint,  
"Aeris says she heard him raving all night long..and then he threw up..blood in the bathroom. He's unconscious now."  
Cloud stared blankly at her face, not sure whether he had heard her correctly. Tifa did not wait for him to recover. She grabbed any pair of jeans from the closet, a sweater, and rushed out of the room to change.  
Cloud scratched the back of his head in confusion, then cried after her,  
"But I was with him just yesterday! He didn't look THAT sick to me! Oh sure, he looked a tad paler than usual, but.."  
"I think he has a fever," she shouted as a reply.  
"Hell of a fever," he mumbled to himself, then answered determinately,  
"Hang on! I'm coming too"  
The black night shrouded all of Midgar in the darkness, grudging it any form of light. It held the city in the palm of its hand, and stared sternly down at it. The hapless city, not wishing to disobey, had immediately succumbed to night's decree: the streets were deserted; every sound hushed;  
and all the lights effectively killed.  
Silence crept through every alley, peeked through every window in search of anyone brave enough to defy its authority. None dared, except for a sudden roar zooming through the night.  
Cloud, with Tifa perched behind him on the motorbike, rudely ignored the stillness. Instead, he blasted through the dark streets at full throttle.  
He occasionally ran over the sidewalk to take a short-cut, or skidded around a curb so sharply, Tifa nearly lost her balance. He had great difficulty seeing, even with the headlight turned on, but he drove on regardless. They passed so many endless streets and alleyways, Tifa thought they'd never make it. Her heart grew unbearably sick with worry. Hundreds of anxious questions streamed into her head at once. She just wanted to reach the apartment.  
The motorbike suddenly skidded to a halt. When Tifa realized they had reached the apartment buildings, she sprang off the motorbike and rushed inside without even waiting for Cloud. He propped up the heavy vehicle,  
then followed her as fast as his feet could carry him.  
Tifa flew up the stairs, skipping over several steps at a time. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. The staircase seemed to stretch on forever no matter how fast she ran. Much to her relief, she finally reached the landing.  
She raced down the familiar corridor until she stopped at Vincent's door.  
But before she could knock, the door suddenly swung open and Aeris emerged.  
Tifa stared mutely at the petrified girl: her messy hair was carelessly heaped into a tight bun, with several curly strands dangling about her head. Aeris' pale face expressed unmistakable fear, if not utter horror.  
Her body trembled constantly, but her green, bright eyes shone with strange composure. She could not speak a word.  
  
"Aeris, sweetheart, it's okay," Tifa whispered, gripping the girl's shoulders, "Now, where is he?"  
Cloud had reached the two girls by this time, but stood hesitantly a few steps away; he did not want to interrupt them.  
Aeris took Tifa's hand and pulled her into the apartment, beckoning for Cloud to enter as well. She silently pointed her shaking finger at something in the dark hallway. It was Vincent's body.  
He lay outstretched on his stomach, his face buried in the ground. One hand rested infront of his head, but his magnificent black hair greedily covered it. He appeared to be dead.  
"Aw, crap!!" exclaimed Cloud in alarm. He immediately bolted towards the unconscious man. Tifa rushed to him too, leaving Aeris to linger by the doorway. Though the girl fully understood what had happened, she could not form one single thought in her stunned mind.  
"Vincent!! Hey! Vincent!!" Tifa called, rolling him onto his back. His sickly, bloody face shocked her at once. Cloud crouched by the man, and stared intently at him. Vincent did not wince a muscle.  
"Damn, he's out cold," Cloud muttered to her. He pressed his hand against the man's forehead, the added, "Geez, Tifa! He's burning up!"  
Tifa looked all around herself in despair. Aeris clasped both hands over her chest to control her wild emotions.  
"Right! Right!" Tifa decided nervously, "Let's just get him back to bed."  
The order was immediately carried out. Cloud, with certain difficulty,  
managed to drag Vincent all the way back to the bedroom while Tifa raced ahead of them. She tore off the blankets, begging Cloud to be careful.  
Cloud gently placed the lifeless man on the bed; at the same time, he patted Vincent's cheeks and called his name several times. Vincent did not respond.  
Tifa sat on the bed as she tried to loosen his collar. Blood soon smeared her fumbling fingertips. Nevertheless, she stubbornly persisted to unbutton the bloody shirt.  
"Cloud, get me a clean shirt. Quick!" she ordered when she had taken off the shirt.  
Cloud skipped over to the closet in a flash. He savagely rummaged through the neat stacks of clothes, swearing whenever he tossed some article on the floor.  
"Here!" he cried. Cloud flung a black, sleeveless shirt to Tifa. No sooner had she caught it than she began to dress the unconscious man. cloud helped too: leaning Vincent against his strong shoulder, he pulled the shirt over his head with the greatest care.  
"Careful! His claw!" Tifa warned.  
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," he answered, "Okay...there."  
Tifa leaned the man back against the pillow again when the task was completed. They both stared at the man's face in silence, hoping he may somehow wake up. He did not.  
Tifa gently flicked a stray hair strand out of his face. Her heart sunk in anguish; she had never seen Vincent look so pitiful.  
"We need to wash his face," she suggested after a pause, "That's the best way to beat the fever"  
  
Cloud nodded his head in agreement. So without another word, he darted out of the bedroom to fetch some water. Meanwhile, Tifa stroked Vincent's burning forehead, even called his name once or twice. Nothing. His eyes seemed to be sealed forever.  
Hearing a faint scuffle near by, Tifa turned her head to the source. She wasn't surprised to find Aeris lingering at the foot of the bed, with her anxious eyes riveted on Vincent's ghastly face. Her hands trembled though they gripped the end of the bed firmly. She tried to say something.  
"Tifa..," she whispered finally, "Is he..is he going to die?"  
Tifa fidgeted uncomfortably at the blunt question.  
"Of course not, Aeris," she replied, trying to appear calm, "Vincent's a strong man. He'll be back on his feet soon enough."  
However, Aeris merely shook her head in disbelief.  
"I know he's very ill, Tifa," she cried angrily," I heard him raving all night long, like he was talking to someone he knew, but I..I was too scared to go near him."  
Aeris buried her face in both hands, obviously much agitated with her feebleness. She fought vigorously to restrain her tears. Tifa touched the girl's shoulder very gently.  
She did not interrupt Aeris as she recounted the whole episode amidst stifled sobs and broken sentences. She described every detail, omitting nothing. Tifa's eyes tensed in alarm when Aeris mentioned Vincent's transformation, and all his strange questions before he lost conscious.  
Cloud suddenly walked in with a basin of water, but stopped short on seeing the two girls together. he made some meaningful signal to Tifa, who immediately nodded her head.  
Tifa took the basin from Cloud, and turned to Aeris.  
"Aeris," she smiled kindly, "would you please wash Vincent's face? I'll be back in a minute."  
without another word, Tifa handed the basin over to Aeris. After one solemn nod of the head, the girl began her task, only too glad to busy herself.  
Tifa glanced at her for a minute, then slipped out of the bedroom quietly.  
Cloud, who had retreated again into the hallway, shut the bedroom door behind Tifa.  
both stood in the dark hallway, completely engrossed in silence. Cloud seemed particularly pale, but his eyes gleamed excitedly. He obviously had some important news.  
"Tifa," he began finally, "the whole bathroom's dripping in Vincent's blood. He must've spewed out at least a liter of blood."  
Tifa was silent.  
"He's gonna die unless we get him to a hospital," Cloud continued, "it's a miracle he's still alive at all."  
"He's too weak for us to move him," Tifa protested. Her voice sounded very dry.  
"Then we'll call an ambulance. Anything! He needs a doctor!"  
Much to his astonishment, Tifa shook her head in disagreement.  
"If he needed a doctor, he would've went to one by himself," she stated composedly.  
Cloud blinked at her in surprise, then scowled, "Tifa, go look at the toilet he puked in, then tell me if still doesn't need a doctor!"  
"Yes, yes..but I..think I know why he has avoided going all this time."  
He crossed his arms sullenly, waiting for an explanation to the mystery.  
"You know he's...'different' from other people," she began after a brief pause, "What would happen if they become too interested in him? Or maybe even make a study-case out of him? Cloud, he'd hate that!"  
Cloud made no reply.  
"And there's something else," Tifa muttered cautiously, "I think Vincent's having some kind of mental breakdown. He may..lose control, and harm himself, not to mention other people."  
Both remained silent for a moment until Cloud suddenly broke away, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. Tifa had won the argument.  
"All right," he sighed, "You're the nurse here."  
Tifa smiled lovingly at him, then said, "Listen. I need to go to the pharmacy. Maybe they have something for Vincent's fever."  
"Wha?! No way!!" Cloud exclaimed in alarm, "I won't have you wandering around Midgar THIS late!! It's too dangerous! I'll go!"  
Tifa gave him her "don't-act-macho-with-me-buster" look, but did not reply. Nevertheless, Cloud could see she would have it her way.  
"Well, you have to stay here with Aeris," he explained, feeling very uncomfortable, "I don't think it's a good idea to leave her alone..with Vincent unconscious.."  
Tifa looked at him fidget nervously and try to argue his point more effectively. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.  
"Cloud," she asked slyly, "are you jealous of Vincent?"  
"What?!" he cried indignantly, "Now why would I be jealous of HIM?!!"  
"Oh..maybe because Aeris seems to care a great deal about him.."  
His cheeks flushed with outrage, much to Tifa's amusement.  
"Fah! Women!" Cloud spluttered without restraint, "Think you know everything there is to know! Of course it's only natural she'd care for him so much."  
Tifa only raised one eyebrow suspiciously.  
"Well, he has been taking care of her for about a month now," Cloud scoffed at her impertinent look, "And I suppose he likes her too..in his own weird way. but I don't think it's like that...Vincent's too much on the 'doom and gloom' side.."  
"Then again, Cloud," she murmured to herself, "you tend to be a bit blind at times.."  
Luckily, Cloud did not hear the comment, but insisted Tifa at least let him accompany her. Too fatigued to argue any further, she finally consented.  
At that moment, Aeris stepped out of the bedroom, flicking the lights off as she emerged. She left the door slightly ajar.  
"I..I cleaned his face," she muttered softly.  
Aeris, in fact, held the basin and towel between her hands. The towel floated pitifully in the red, murky water, with patches of blood staining it.  
"We're going to get some medicine for Vincent's fever," Cloud answered in a low voice, "We'll only be gone for half an hour."  
Aeris nodded her head.  
"You take care of him, okay?" added Tifa, "Keep on soaking his forehead until we come back."  
So, without further argument, Tifa and Cloud hastily prepared to leave.  
Aeris saw them to the door, waving feebly and trying to appear comforted.  
  
Tifa, with a kind pat on her friend's shoulder, promised to back soon. They were gone.  
End of chp. 13  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	11. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.14 The instant she shut the door after her friend left, Aeris plunged into a sea of confused thoughts; so many cluttered her mind at once, she could not concentrate on any one in particular. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her head ached terribly.  
It was very quiet.  
Aeris slowly became aware of the deathly silence that had invaded the whole apartment. It crept around every dark room, lurked in the shadows,  
just to peer amusedly at her pain. It's burning eyes bore right into her soul; it seemed to call her mane several times.  
She turned around mechanically, then sprung back in alarm: Vincent was staring straight at her with bloodshot, wild eyes.  
He had finally woken up.  
Vincent stood half-way through the doorway of the bedroom, so that Aeris could only see half of his face and body. He did not flinch a muscle.  
Though Aeris could barely distinguish his tall, black figure in the dark,  
her hands trembled on meeting his glowing eyes. Even if she had wanted to speak, the pounding in her heart denied her any voice.  
She retreated a step or two in spite of herself, then stood rooted to her spot. Her legs began to shake underneath her. Vincent slowly emerged from the bedroom, his two arms folded loosely across his chest. As he staggered towards her, his eyes suddenly flashed with strange, hectic delirium. His face, now clean of all blood, looked more waxen and pale than ever before.  
He did not stop until he was exactly one step away from Aeris.  
There was an agonizing stillness in the hall. Vincent appeared to find the girl's terror quite amusing; an evil smile gradually twisted his lips.  
"I must frighten you a great deal..Aeris..," he began in a hoarse whisper.  
His blazing eyes narrowed keenly on her face.  
"N..no..," she stammered softly, "I'm not afraid of you..."  
"Then why are you shaking?"  
A sharp, cold sensation licked her spine, causing her to tremble even more violently; but Aeris refused to admit her fear. She cast her eyes to the floor in anguish, and remained silent.  
"I bet I frighten you more than your Professor..," Vincent chuckled in a low voice, "..I even bet you wished sometimes you could go back to him rather than stay with me.."  
Aeris started at the unexpected accusation, unsure whether she should argue or ignore it. She found her quizzical eyes riveted on his pale face,  
but he only returned her look with a stoic expression.  
For some reason, Vincent suddenly stepped away from her. He retreated dejectedly to the darker end of the hall, avoiding her gaze altogether. He hung his head so low, some of his hair tumbled over his haggard face, even over his shoulders. The darkness of the hall shrouded him in some invisible cloth, as though it wanted to conceal a secret from the girl's eyes.  
Aeris studied his pitiful figure in silence: his arms appeared much thinner in that loose, sleeveless shirt; the blackness of his hair and shabby clothes only intensified his paleness. Her heart flooded with pain.  
Why is he like this?! Aeris cried in her mind, he's completely lost his mind!  
But before the compassionate girl could open her mouth, Vincent shot his ruby-red eyes at her again. They glared with a malicious fire.  
"Did you ever ask yourself why I scare you so much?" he sneered contemptuously.  
Aeris stared blankly at his figure in the dark.  
"Is it my hideous face?" Vincent asked as he gently touched his cheek, "Or my claw, perhaps?"  
He lifted his claw up to his wasted face and marveled at its long, sharp fingers that gracefully curved inwards. Aeris thought she heard him snickering.  
"You always seem to shake just looking at my claw," Vincent muttered half-audibly, "Is that what scares you so much?"  
Aeris, of course, dared not answer. Instead, she pressed her back against the wall, trembling as the madman eyed her from the black corner. Though she could barely make out the outline of his body, the darkness had completely obscured his face from her. Strange to say, Vincent seemed to derive pleasure from wallowing in that darkness. Aeris could see his two bloodshot eyes flicker playfully at her distress.  
  
"But no..," Vincent whispered to answer himself, "You're afraid of me because you're the one who can...see through this mask I hide behind.."  
He covered his face with his sharp claw, letting its cold fingers spread all over his "mask" until Aeris could only see one red eye; it glared scornfully at her.  
"Heh heh..," sniggered Vincent under his breath, "..a little girl like you.."  
Her hands clasped themselves over her breast in an attempt to calm her heart. She had never seen Vincent look so sinister; he looked ready to murder her any moment.  
"I could walk anywhere...talk to anyone," he raved on without removing his claw, "..even talk to old, decrepit men on trains..and they would call me 'young man'..."  
He pulled his claw away from his face, then scoffed hatefully, "They only see the mask...the idiots! They can't see the monster like you can."  
"V-Vincent..," Aeris forced out in alarm.  
"I don't mean that monster..the one with the wings and claws..," the madman sighed. He ran his trembling fingers through his chaotic hair,  
mumbling, "..no. I mean you see the other monster...the one that wouldn't help Lucrecia..it's the one that hounds me day and night...no matter where I hide.."  
She took a step towards him, but stopped short on meeting his strange eyes: they had shifted from a spiteful glare to a bitter, melancholy glow.  
His feet suddenly grew unsteady, and he collapsed to his knees in an instant. The fever had obviously torn all his senses apart; Vincent sat slouched on the ground, not understanding how he had landed there in the first place. He clutched one side of his head in pain, nearly tearing the hair from their roots.  
Aeris forgot her fear in a second. she immediately rushed over to him. Yet despite all her entreaties and calls, Vincent continued to clutch one side of his head. His eyes darted from one end of the room to the other, as though he could actually see someone.  
"But, it's all for the experiment..," Vincent ranted to himself, "his wonderful experiment.."  
Aeris forcefully tore his hand away fro his face, and peered into his ashen, sickly face. Unimaginable pity swelled in her heart. Vincent pressed her mouth with his cold hand before she could utter a word.  
"Sh! Sh! Listen!" he whispered cautiously, glaring at one corner of the room, "..he's looking for you...he can't find you, that's why he's cursing so much..."  
But this was too much for the poor girl; she could not bear to see him so miserable.  
"No one's there, Vincent," Aeris cried as both her hands gripped his, "You have a..a fever and.."  
"Sh! Listen!!" he growled, looking all around the room then straight at her, "..now he's screaming! He wants to finish..he must finish the experiment! they..they're all calling me a monster.."  
"But you're not a monster, Vincent!!" Aeris argued loudly. She held his feverish face between her two hands, and repeated, "You hear me?! You're not a monster!!"  
Vincent's crimson eyes froze on her troubled face when she finished shouting those words. She struck him as particularly beautiful and young at that moment. But no sooner had he realized that than his whole face darkened with immense hatred.  
Suddenly, he pounced on the girl in a fit of rage. Though Aeris struggled wildly and screamed to break loose, Vincent easily pinned her against the floor with amazing new strength. In a flash, the madman had her flat on her back, with her two hands firmly implanted near her head.  
"What would you know about monsters?" he sneered as he brought his face close to hers, "You're just a child! A CHILD!!"  
"Ah!! Y..you're hurting me..," Aeris sobbed; his claw was crushing her wrist under its heavy weight.  
"Do you have any idea how much blood I've shed?!" Vincent raved, beside himself with anger, "Can you smell it on my body? Can you see it on my face?! Tell me, aren't I a monster?!"  
"No!" she snapped back, "No! I don't believe you're a monster!"  
"Of course I am! That's why I scare you! It's the monster! Say it!  
Say: Vincent, you're a monster!"  
"You can't be a monster!" Aeris insisted stubbornly, feeling his grip tighten on her, "Even if you change into that horrible creature..it's not you're fault!!! You're NOT a monster!!"  
A heavy pause fell on the two again. Aeris gasped outloud, completely overwhelmed with his madness. Vincent gazed down at her coldly, as an animal may study its prey before killing it. An unnatural smile crept across his lips.  
"Heh heh..do you know why I even bother with you, Aeris?" he asked vehemently, "Do you know why I seem ready to throw away my stupid life the minute I hear you're in danger??"  
She slowly turned her head to look up at him. He hair had become loose during the struggle, and had scattered all around her head, making her seem more beautiful.  
"It's not because I care for you," Vincent answered, "Fah! I don't care for anyone!! It's not because I'm kind or soft-hearted..far from it!! I could still kill as easily as before!"  
His burning eyes consumed her in their insane fire until tears streamed down her cheeks. He was hurting her beyond endurance.  
"It's for Lucrecia," he dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, "It's always for Lucrecia. I pretend I'm protecting her instead of you..that she's the one near me instead of you..it's her, not you! NOT YOU!!"  
The girl clenched her little white fists, but did not answer.  
"I'm a selfish..selfish bastard..," Vincent muttered to her softly, "I would have let Davoren drag you away to Hell, for all I care, if I wasn't like this."  
She still did not reply.  
"Now, answer me: aren't I a monster?" Vincent asked her. He even loosened his grip slightly.  
"At first, I..," she stammered after a short silence, "..I thought you were very cold-hearted..yes, maybe I even felt you were a monster..so I hid away from you..because you scared me so much, like I had wronged you somehow.."  
Her voice sounded very steady despite her violent trembling. Vincent narrowed his keen, mad eyes, weighing every syllable she uttered. He seemed to grow more spiteful.  
"But..," Aeris continued, now looking directly at him, "..when you ran after me in the rain..when you said you felt 'concern' for me..I knew  
then you weren't a monster at all."  
He gave a slight twitch at the word "monster".;  
"And Vincent, when you hugged me after all of that," she cried in anguish,  
"it wasn't a monster that did it! It was a human being! A kind, gentle human being!"  
"What kind of bullshit is that?!" he growled through grit teeth, "You make me sound like a saint!! I've killed and destroyed so many lives..trampled all over everything..I can't even remember when I.."  
"I don't care what you say!!" Aeris interrupted, shaking her head vigorously, "I don't care if you think you're I monster! Maybe you were one in the past, but I will not believe you're one now!!!"  
Her bright green eyes flashed straight up at him as she finished, "And if you won't listen to me, then pretend I'm Lucrecia for one moment and open your ears: You are not a monster!!"  
Aeris squeezed her eyes shut, breathless with agitation. A strange, bitter feeling stung her pounding heart. Vincent stared coolly at the distressed girl he held pinned down on the floor. His hand grasped her wrist so tightly, he could feel her pulse throbbing in pain.  
His head suddenly felt cold, even though the rest of his body burned with fever. He automatically withdrew from Aeris, obviously ashamed he had harmed her. Vincent crawled away as she sat up, but grew tired after a few inches. He huddled dejectedly by the wall.  
"F..forgive..I didn't mean to hurt you..," he muttered, looking at his claw in dismay, "..and I didn't mean to vent my hatred on you like that.."  
Aeris watched him edge further away from her, as if the darkness could perhaps shelter him its black arms. She did not say anything.  
"When I said I was concerned about you, I really meant it," he whispered bitterly, "..but your pain is only physical..it goes away after a while...you wouldn't understand why I'm like this..'mentally shattered' is the expression I think I used.."  
His confused eyes wandered all around the black hallway until he could see no more. His senses were fading into oblivion.  
"What would I give to satisfy her, Aeris?" Vincent whimpered, addressing solely himself, "I stayed out of her way..I punished myself and let others punish me...I joined Avalanche, but it wasn't for the Planet..I never cared about the Planet...it was all for her.."  
Aeris crawled over to him in silence, and touched his bare arm softly. He did not notice her at all: he seemed to look straight down a bottomless pit of chaos; his mind drew closer and closer to the brink of insanity.  
"But I know there is nothing..," he mumbled tiredly to the darkness,  
"literally nothing I can do to win her forgiveness for what I've done.. I don't deserve it, anyway...ugh! What a hideous creature I am.  
a..mon..s..te..r..."  
The fever drowned him at last. Vincent's whole body suddenly slumped to the side, but Aeris caught him in her arms before he could crash into the ground. He had lost conscious again.  
Strange that she did not cry, nor did she sob out his name, or even quiver in fear. Instead, she embraced his lifeless body all to herself. She nestled his head against her shoulder, stroking his black hair tenderly. She began to cradle him gently from side to side, like a mother lulling her child to sleep. She said nothing to wake him.  
Vincent had finally slipped into the bleak abyss of delirium. The ugly pit eagerly yawned open its mouth to admit him into the darkness, then sealed him away from reality.  
He felt very cold, especially in his fingertips.  
And his mind strayed back...back..thirty-one years ago.  
End of chp. 14  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!  
  
Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	12. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields 15

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.15

His tie suffocated him until breathing altogether became painful. He felt very hot in his suit.

"Damn them, anyway," he cursed under his breath. He dared not speak aloud...not here.

Vincent, with his gun gripped in both hands, huddled next to the ventilation grate. He had sneaked into the Reactor via the second main pumping pipe, and had crawled all the way up through the ventilation ducts until he reached the main reception hall. There, he was told to "stay put" in the duct until further notice.

The monotonous humming of the pumps below hammered his ears non-stop. Occasionally, a shrill whistle screeched through the whole Reactor, signaling the refilling of some materia tank. But otherwise, nothing interrupted the dull droning of the pumping pipes.

Vincent peeked curiously through the ventilation grate: the main reception hall was strangely abandoned. The whole Reactor, in fact, seemed to be deserted.

He looked all around the ventilation duct he had squeezed himself through. It was surprisingly well-kept, almost dust free, yet hot beyond endurance. Vincent could barely see ten inches infront of his face. Although the grates permitted some light to pass, darkness dominated the labyrinth of air ducts.

Hearing someone scuffling through the ducts, Vincent turned his head to face the intruder. He wasn't surprised to see a man crawling on all fours towards him. In truth, he had been waiting nervously for the arrival of this man.

This tall man, who looked around thirty, had chest-nut hair and deep honey-colored eyes. A tiny radio receiver was stuck in one of his ears. He wore a dark navy-blue suit exactly similar to Vincent's.

"There're exactly 26 terrorists in the entire Reactor," the man whispered gravely, "...but they're obviously not professionals... just some hired thugs off the street."

Vincent nodded his head once.

The man glanced through the grate hurriedly, then asked, "Anyone pass through the main hall..er..what was your name again?"

"Valentine, Sir. Vincent Valentine."

"Of course, I'm sorry," the man humbly apologized, "I've been on vacation too long. So, anyone pass through the main hall?"

"No, Sir. Nobody," Vincent answered with marked respect.

The man nodded his head solemnly as he studied Vincent's face, which made the latter very uncomfortable. Vincent peeked through the grate again, pretending to confirm his answer.

"You're the new Turk President ShinRa hired, eh?" the man smiled kindly, "Sorry we hadn't had time for a proper introduction, Valentine: my name is Davoren J. Murdock, but just call me Davoren, Pleased to meet you at last."

Vincent dutifully shook the hand Davoren extended towards him. Of course, this man needed no introductions: Davoren was the leader of the Turks. Gerald and Cindy, the other two Turks, had made sure Vincent knew that.

Funny..he doesn't behave like a leader, Vincent reflected to himself.

"Hoy! Davoren!" called a clear voice through the radio receiver. Vincent immediately recognized Gerald's voice, a member of the Turks. He had such a noticeable, distinguished accent.

"Yes, Gerald, you found the hostages?" Davoren asked. His face instantly shifted from carefree to serious as he tapped the receiver in his ear.

"There's 48 of 'em, Sir," the voice spoke, "16 are in the West Wing of the Reactor, and 32 near the draining pipes on the ground floor."

"Are all the hostages alive, Gerald?"

"Aye, Sir," the Turk answered after a short pause, "So far, the lit'le buggers 'aven't killed anyone."

"Very well. Wait until Cindy reports to me."

Vincent began to tug at the hammer of his gun while they waited silently for the other Turk to report. Davoren stared absent-mindedly at Vincent's gun, then remarked casually, "I read your CV, Valentine. It said you're pretty handy with firearms."

"I don't know, Sir," Vincent replied curtly. For some reason, he shoved his gun back into its holster.

"Well, well," Davoren chuckled, completely in good-humor, "You'll know by the end of today."

Suddenly, the radio receiver bleeped twice, which effectively cut the conversation short.

"Yes, Cindy, go ahead," Davoren ordered, tapping the receiver again.

"Sir, I found all the scientists they're holding hostage," she answered. Cindy had a playful, sweet voice, even when dead serious.

"And?"

"I'm afraid it's confirmed, Sir: Professor Gast is among the hostages."

"...acknowledged, Cindy," Davoren sighed. He scratched his head in

annoyance, as though that last scrap of news bore great significance.

Vincent fidgeted nervously, but remained silent.

During the last three years, many powerful companies had witnessed ShinRa rapidly rise from an unknown business investment to a mega-sized corporation of vast influence. Soon, everyone, even little children playing with their dolls or plastic swords, knew the importance the name "ShinRa Inc." bore.

Not surprisingly, ShinRa made several enemies as its power hungrily soared to unbelievable heights. Its president, or the "ShinRa Jackal" as everyone nicknamed him, astonished his enemies with his shrewd, cunning brain: within a single year, he had destroyed three rival companies.

One by one, the resentful companies disappeared until only one blocked ShinRa's way: The Hawking Industrial Corporation of Midgar.

Hawking, a middle-aged man of spiteful appearance, made no secret of his utter contempt for ShinRa Inc. He openly abused its illustrious president, attacking all his "avaricious, self-centered policies".

Nevertheless, ShinRa Inc. spread its large wings all over Midgar. And how angry Hawking was to see another ShinRa Reactor completed on time.

"That Jackal has already built three Reactors!" Hawking had thundered angrily, "The devil take him and all his blasted Reactors."

But that curse did not satisfy the furious Hawking at all. He knew his company would be trampled on like any other. It was only a matter of time..unless, of course, he "thwarted" the Reactor somehow..

So, at around ten o'clock in the morning, President ShinRa received information that terrorists had invaded one of his Reactors. They had threatened to kill every employee there, including all the scientists, unless he shut the Reactors down immediately. They even claimed to have Professor Gast, ShinRa's top scientist, held at gunpoint.

After many curses too upsetting to repeat, the ShinRa President gave a direct order to the Turks: they would "handle the matter as they saw fit".

"16 hostages in the West Wing, and 32 near the draining pipes," Davoren muttered to himself at length, "Cindy, where's Professor Gast?"

"In the West Wing, Sir."

Davoren's face darkened with serious contemplation. He seemed to argue something fiercely in his brain. Vincent glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then looked away coolly.

"There're 26 terrorists in the Reactor," Davoren explained in a very business-like air, "Fortunately, none are professional. 15 on the ground floor, 11 in the West Wing. That means that 32 hostages are guarded by 15 terrorists, and 16 by.."

"Oy, yer doing me head with all those numbers, Davoren," interrupted Gerald. His voice sounded very tired., "Just tell us what to do."

"Right, right. Valentine and I will take the ground floor, you two take the West Wing. That means you'll have to save Professor Gast."

"Yes, Sir!" answered both Turks at once.

"And listen," Davoren warned very sternly as he tapped the receiver in his ear, "We have a direct order from the President: no terrorist, on any account, is to be spared. every hostage is to be saved. No room for screw-ups, got that?"

"Even the janitor?!" Gerald asked in surprise.

"Yes, Gerald, even the janitor," Davoren resumed , trying to stifle a laugh, "When you shoot, aim for their heads. We move in, kill them, and move out at once. Any questions?"

"Dammy, Sir," Gerald commented, "Ye be sure to watch over the lad...this 'ere is his first fight.."

Vincent frowned contemptuously: Gerald had this annoying habit of

addressing him as "lad", even though Vincent was older than him by three years. He only called him that because Vincent was a new Turk.

"Don't worry about him, Gerald," Davoren smiled, "You just watch your own back. Contact me if either of you are injured. If not, wait until I contact you. Over and out."

Without another word, Davoren yanked the receiver out of his ear, then tossed it into his pocket. Vincent wasted no more time: he instantly began to prepare his gun for battle.

But much to his embarrassment, Vincent's hands could not stop trembling. He dropped many bullets as he fumbled to load his gun, nearly dropping the gun itself. A cold, nervous felling tickled his heart.

"How long have you been a Turk, Valentine?" Davoren asked after a brief pause. He seemed quite interested in Vincent.

"About six months, Sir."

"I see. And how many missions have you been on so far?"

"Three, Sir," Vincent muttered softly, "One escort, two assassinations."

"Assassinations, hey?" his leader pronounced, eyeing him with more

curiosity, "the Mayor was killed during his re-inauguration two months ago. they never found the assassin..was that you?"

"I don't know, Sir," Vincent replied, slightly confused, "They only give me a picture and tell me where to shoot. I'm never told who I kill."

"Ha ha! Fair enough," Davoren laughed amicably, "What you don't know can't hurt you, I guess."

Davoren groped at his pockets until he pulled out a small, rectangular timer. Vincent cocked his gun loudly, then leaned against the wall of the air duct while his leader began to program the timer.

Neither spoke a word, which only intensified Vincent's apprehension.

"You nervous, Valentine?" Davoren whispered without looking at him.

"No, Sir."

"Good, good. Open combat can get a bit brutal.. especially for rookies."

Though Vincent nodded his head calmly, his heart pounded as violently as ever. He had never been on a mission involving hostages and terrorists. Nor had he ever teamed up with all the Turks at the same time. Except for the one time he had to escort the President with Gerald, Vincent had always worked solo.

Not that it mattered to him whether he killed terrorists...only the novelty of the mission filled him with great discomfort.

"Hey," called Davoren, interrupting the man's reverie. Vincent automatically turned to him.

"Don't get yourself killed trying to impress me ," winked the leader with a friendly smile, "Just do your job. You're pretty good with that gun, I can tell. It'd be a shame if you died so soon."

Vincent blinked in surprise at the compliment, not sure how to answer back. But Davoren saved him the trouble; his face suddenly assumed a serious expression as he gave Vincent one nod of the head.

That was the signal for "attack".

Vincent immediately tore open the grate, trying not to make too much noise. He gracefully slipped out of the air duct, followed by Davoren, who held onto the timer as if to dear life.

No sooner had the two Turks landed on the ground, than Vincent bolted straight towards the main hall which lead to the Reactor. He glued his back against the wall near the entrance, his gun right infront of him. he listened attentively for any activity in the hall. Nothing.

After a silent moment, Vincent cautiously peeked into the hallway: it was a luxurious, spacious hall, with pink lanterns flickering dimly on both sides. He noted a screen monitor brutally smashed. Shattered glass, along with bullet shells and empty cartridges littered the marble floor. The terrorists had obviously been through here.

Vincent scanned the entire hallway, suspicious he may chance upon a terrorist lurking in the shadows. He spent a full minute just checking.

When he was sure the terrorists had left no sentry, Vincent made a signal to Davoren from behind, meaning that all was clear. The two men crept noiselessly but speedily through the corridor, past the smashed monitor, down the flight of steps, until they reached the elevator. It would take them down to the Reactor.

Davoren pressed the button. At the same time, Vincent fixed his gun on the metallic doors, in case any terrorist should happen to be inside.

Sweat trickled down Vincent's forehead. some strands of black hair dangled loosely infront of his tense face. He wished he had longer hair..at least then he could tie it back.

The elevator announced it's long-awaited arrival with a loud chime. Nobody was inside.

In a flash, both Turks dashed into the elevator, each man huddling in opposite corners near the door. Davoren struck the lower button in certain haste, but the lazy elevator mechanically sealed the two inside with perfect ease.

During this time, neither man breathed a word. Davoren pulled out his semi-automatic gun, making sure it was loaded to the max. As the elevator neared its destination, he closed his eyes composedly, as if concentrating all his thoughts on one single issue.

Vincent glanced at his leader with obvious curiosity. He guessed Davoren was praying; he noticed the man's lips move silently. He even crossed himself reverently when the elevator halted.

He expelled a breath, then looked significantly at Vincent, as if to say "are you ready?"

Vincent nodded his head. His eyes shone brilliantly with excitement.

Come what may, he was ready.

-End of Chp.15

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	13. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.16  
  
Before the elevator door had fully withdrawn, both Turks dashed out onto  
the platform towards a gigantic, cylindrical generator. The two men  
crouched by this impressive machine, still not daring to speak a word.  
  
Vincent had been told ShinRa Reactors consisted of basically three large  
platforms with the ground floor sandwiched in the middle, but he had never  
actually been inside one before. His keen eyes followed the magnificent  
pumps that arched majestically way up to the black ceiling. Countless  
metallic pipes of all sizes adorned the whole place; some sprouted out of  
the brick walls; others bent into tanks, or sometimes dug into big, complex  
machines.  
  
Gaskets, valves, and colorful screen monitors were plentiful. The pungent  
smell of raw, uncompressed materia shocked Vincent's senses so strongly, he  
pressed one hand over his nose in disgust. He could still hear the dull hum  
of the pumping pipes filling the dark Reactor.  
  
A rough tug at his sleeve immediately interrupted Vincent's observations.  
Davoren silently motioned for them to move towards the edge of this huge  
platform. Vincent obeyed his command.  
  
Both Turks crept with their backs bent until they reached the railing that  
bordered the first platform. As they approached the brink, Vincent  
discerned loud, coarse mutterings down below on the ground floor. He  
assumed those were the terrorists.  
  
The two men lay flat on their stomachs when they finally reached the edge  
of the platform; neither dared look over it. Vincent gripped his gun  
rigidly between his fingers. He felt hot and cold at the same time.  
  
Davoren put his finger to his lips, meaning that Vincent was to remain  
perfectly still. He stole a glance over the edge, barely long enough to see  
below, then instantly pulled his head back.  
  
"There're eight of them down there," Davoren whispered softly, "Three  
around the entrance, two by the stairs, and three at the pumps."  
  
Vincent nodded his head in silence. He understood that the hostages were  
held at those pumps as well. Therefore, they would not attack the  
terrorists stationed there...for the time being.  
  
Davoren looked hard at Vincent as he muttered, "If you're really as good  
as your CV claims, Valentine, you should be able to shoot the three men at  
the entrance. I'll take out the two by the stairs. We have to reach the  
ground floor before their reinforcements arrive. We attack in twenty  
seconds."  
  
Both men automatically synchronized their watches, and waited.  
  
As the seconds steadily passed by, Vincent could hear the men below  
chattering away, blissfully unaware of their ensuing death. One of them  
began tell a dirty joke, while his comrades roared with laughter.  
  
Vincent glanced timidly at his leader, then tightened his grip on his gun.  
  
It was time.  
  
Both Turks sprang to their feet at once. without even looking, Vincent  
bent over the railing and fired at the three men by the entrance. He killed  
them instantly.  
  
At the same time, Davoren flew down the metallic staircase, killing two  
terrorists who blocked his way. Vincent rushed after Davoren down the  
stairs, keeping his head low and arms stretched out. His mind had frozen  
completely; all his thoughts were focused on killing the terrorists.  
  
Utter chaos broke out amongst the three remaining terrorists. No words  
could describe their shock on spotting Vincent and Davoren, already  
half-way down the staircase, with their guns blazing infront of them.  
  
"SHIT!! IT'S THE TURKS!!!" screamed someone.  
  
"SHOOT THEM!! SHOOT THEM!!" bellowed another.  
  
Vincent nearly stumbled over as a mad torrent of bullets attacked the  
stairs, but both men only redoubled their speed. The iron balustrade  
rattled stiffly with the endless shower of bullets, trying its best to  
protect the two Turks. Many bullets whizzed over Vincent's head; one even  
snatched a lock of his hair.  
  
His senses sharpened with every gunshot. He fixed his bright eyes directly  
on the foot of this staircase. Yet despite all that wild, crazed gunfire  
and the mad rush down those metal steps, Vincent never felt cooler in the  
head.  
  
The instant the two Turks had cleared the battered staircase, they lunged  
foreword to duck behind a large delivery tank just ahead. The angry bullets  
tore furiously at this barrier.  
  
Both men huddled behind this stout tank, letting the terrorists bombard it  
as long as they pleased. Vincent could hear them screaming all sorts of  
curses over the loud bullets. But more importantly, he could discern their  
desperate fear...he did not even have to look at their faces.  
  
A Turk; ShinRa's beloved secret service, sometimes humorously nicknamed  
"the Men in Blue". Everyone in Midgar, from the highest business executive  
to the lowest beggar on the streets, trembled at the mention of that simple  
word.  
  
Yes..even those pathetic, untrained terrorists were afraid deep down in  
their hearts.  
  
The gunfire suddenly ceased, shattering Vincent's thoughts. He turned to  
Davoren for any instructions, but his leader merely shook his head sternly:  
he wanted Vincent to stay behind the tank, and wait.  
  
Vincent heard many scuffling and confused shouts over at the enemy's side.  
Obviously, the rest of their comrades had arrived to help.  
  
"Reload your gun, Valentine," Davoren whispered without looking at him,  
"Always check your ammo whenever you find a shelter."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Vincent muttered obediently.  
  
"Hey! Hey! You turkeys!!" boomed a gruff voice from the terrorists' side,  
"Might as well waltz outta there and let us kill ya!! There's only two of  
you and seven of us!!"  
  
Vincent silently reloaded his gun, ignoring the feeble challenge. When he  
had finished, Davoren pulled him closer by the sleeve. His eyes gleamed  
with agitation.  
  
"Listen, there's a purple gasket on the left corner near the entrance,"  
the leader murmured hurriedly, "It's just above their heads. On the count  
of three, you blast it. See that black furnace over there?"  
  
He pointed to a round, sooty machine placed a few yards away. Vincent saw  
it.  
  
"When you shoot the gasket, run straight for that furnace," Davoren  
ordered, "I'll cover you. Do you understand?"  
  
Vincent nodded his head.  
  
"C'mon out, you bastards!!" shouted another terrorist with apparent  
arrogance, to the amusement of all his comrades. They all began to jeer and  
hurl curses at the two Turks, thinking them helplessly cornered.  
  
"Feh..amateurs," Davoren scoffed under his breath. He held Vincent's arm  
firmly as he counted, "one...two...three!!"  
  
Vincent immediately rolled out into the open while Davoren opened fire on  
the stupid terrorists. He killed one man, and injured another in the neck.  
The rest of the astonished terrorists scurried behind any barrier, then  
blasted furiously at both Turks.  
  
As Vincent dashed to safety amidst all the insane cross-fire, his eyes  
spotted the mentioned purple gasket. His hand automatically reached up to  
aim.  
  
With one clean shot, Vincent blasted the lid off the gasket, causing the  
surrounding pipes to swell with unbearable pressure. Suddenly, the whole  
piping network behind the terrorists exploded. Hot, blinding steam hissed  
evilly out of the broken pipes. Soon, they were engulfed in the thick gas.  
  
Maddened with panic, the terrorists began to shoot randomly in hopes one  
stray bullet may kill a Turk. But Vincent had already flew behind the  
furnace, and Davoren still huddled against the ever-enduring delivery tank.  
  
Davoren pulled out the small timer he had programmed in the air duct.  
After cranking the dial, he flung it straight into the middle of the  
terrorists. The next second, a deafening explosion rocked the entire  
Reactor, causing more pipes and shattered iron bars to crush the enemy.  
Davoren had thrown a small time bomb.  
  
Without another moment to waste, Davoren rushed towards the furnace as  
fast as he could. His sharp ears heard some terrorists swearing and  
shouting to each other about "a grenade". Davoren scowled: he had expected  
the bomb to kill all the terrorists.  
  
On reaching the shelter, Davoren found Vincent crouching by the furnace,  
the sweat streaming down his face. He was not afraid, just hot with all the  
steam. When Davoren was assured Vincent wasn't injured, the two men glued  
their backs against the furnace wall. Vincent held his gun directly infront  
of his pale face.  
  
"Two of those jokers are still alive," gasped Davoren as he looked  
solemnly at Vincent, "They're gonna throw a grenade at us."  
  
Vincent stared blankly at the news, then decided to kill the remaining  
terrorists in one sweep. But before he could attack the enemy, Davoren  
yanked him back behind the furnace.  
  
"No! No! No!" Davoren scolded. He spoke very hurriedly, "The purpose of a  
grenade is to drive you out of your shelter. They're expecting us to run  
out from either the left side of the furnace or the right. Now, to  
counter-attack a grenade AND surprise the enemy, you jump out from the  
least expected direction."  
  
Vincent scratched his head in confusion. Davoren spoke too fast for his  
comprehension, and all his tactical logic only baffled the poor Turk  
further.  
  
"When they throw the grenade," Davoren concluded, "We jump over the  
furnace, and kill the bastards. Understood?"  
  
Vincent pushed his hair out of his eyes, muttering a respectful "yes Sir".  
After all, who was he to argue with the leader of the Turks?  
  
Suddenly, a round grenade landed with a loud thud exactly infront of the  
two Turks. Its fuse sparked wildly.  
  
"NOW!!" thundered Davoren.  
  
In a flash, both men leapt on top of the furnace, each aiming his gun  
straight at the two remaining terrorists. Vincent shot one man in the head,  
Davoren got the other in the eye.  
  
Vincent stared in wonder at the two dead bodies they had just shot: the  
mission was completed. He sighed in relief.  
  
Suddenly, Davoren grabbed him and sprang away from the furnace, just as an  
ear-splitting explosion ripped through it. The strength of the blast sent  
both men sprawling against the ground, but Davoren held Vincent in such a  
way that his back alone took the full blow.  
  
"And don't forget about the grenade, either," Davoren smiled as he  
struggled to get up.  
  
Vincent instantly helped Davoren to his feet. The two stared silently at  
the burning furnace, with all sorts of wires and horribly distorted iron  
bars protruding out of it. It was destroyed beyond recognition.  
  
"C'mon," Davoren ordered after a moment's pause, "We have to find the  
hostages."  
  
Their quest ended very shortly. The two Turks discovered all the hostages  
stuffed into a corner next to one of the draining pumps, looking  
overwhelmed with horror. They had, undoubtedly, heard all the racket during  
the battle, and had huddled silently in their spot.  
  
When they saw the two Turks walk up to them, the poor hostages gaped with  
mouths wide open, unsure who those two were. One man in a smart business  
suit dug his face in his hands to stop crying. There were two women  
trembling in each other's arms, and glaring suspiciously at the two new  
strangers. An elderly man, on spotting Vincent's gun, blurted out a prayer.  
  
"We were sent to rescue you," announced Davoren in a clear, loud voice,  
"Everyone all right?"  
  
He heard a faint "yes" murmured; some only nodded their feeble heads as an  
answer. The two women burst into tears, causing another young man to join  
them.  
  
"They're all unhurt," Vincent confirmed after he had checked everyone,  
"Three have fainted, but no injuries, Sir."  
  
Davoren ordered all the freed hostages to remain calm and seated until  
further notice. Reassured that everything was in order, Davoren propped the  
radio receiver into his ear, then tapped it once. Vincent lingered  
carelessly a few yards away, awaiting any further orders.  
  
"Gerald? come in, Gerald!" called Davoren into the radio receiver.  
  
"What took ye so long?" laughed Gerald's happy voice through the receiver,  
"We finished three minutes ago. All eleven terrorists shot dead, Sir."  
  
"Are all the hostages all right?"  
  
"One got a grazed shoulder, Sir," answered Cindy instead, "Another man got  
a broken leg, but everyone's okay."  
  
"And Professor Gast?"  
  
"He's 100 percent safe, Sir. I'll evacuate all the hostages immediately."  
  
"Right," Davoren agreed, "we just need to make sure we got all the  
terrorists. Give us a minute."  
  
"Yes, Sir!" replied both voices firmly.  
  
"Valentine, count the bodies by the entrance," Davoren instructed gravely,  
"I'll count the ones over there."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
For the first time since he had stormed the Reactor, Vincent saw the  
actual faces of these terrorists One body was helplessly crushed underneath  
a large iron bar, so that only its dead hand appeared visible. Another man  
lay flat on his back, still clinging to his gun. Vincent noted a terrorist  
heaped into a corner, his empty eyes expressing genuine pain. They all lay  
lifelessly on the bloody floor, silently crying for any pity from a living  
soul.  
  
But they found no such compassion in this Turk.  
  
Vincent merely walked past them, counting them as though counting sheep.  
He felt no pity on seeing these dead men, nor did any guilt or sadness prick  
his heart. He felt nothing.  
  
He trotted away to report the number of bodies: he had counted nine. He  
searched all over the place for Davoren until, much to his surprise, he  
found the man lingering over a dead body blasted against the wall. It was  
the last terrorist he had killed.  
  
Vincent walked up to his leader, and patiently stood next to him, waiting  
for him to speak. He could hear Davoren muttering a prayer over the body in  
complete veneration. Thought Vincent did not bother looking at the dead  
body, he strained every nerve to hear the prayer.  
  
"..Ye shalt find thy wandering soul at the end of thine pain...and may the  
Kingdom of Heaven embrace thee for eternity..amen..."  
  
Vincent thought the words very peculiar and curious. They stuck to him for  
a long time afterwards.  
  
"Sorry," mumbled Davoren without looking at him, "I didn't mean to keep  
you waiting."  
  
Vincent told him he had found nine bodies.  
  
"And I counted five," calculated Davoren thoughtfully,  
"..eleven..nine..and five...that makes 25.."  
  
Both men looked at each other in sudden alarm: there should have been 26  
terrorists.  
  
"Gerald, are you SURE you counted correctly?" asked Davoren into the  
receiver. His face tensed in apprehension.  
  
"Aye, sir."  
  
"Gerald, there's still a terrorist loose in the Reactor. He must've  
escaped before I threw that time bomb. Listen, you and Cindy evacuate the  
hostages. Vincent and I will hunt him down."  
  
"As ye wish, Sir."  
  
Davoren pulled out the receiver from his ear, his face betraying obvious  
agitation. He signaled for Vincent to prepare his gun: they were going to

the materia reservoirs down below. That was the only place left to hide.  
  
The two men crept as stealthily as cats down the black hallway. Each man  
held his gun near his face, ready for any sudden attack. As they edged near  
the foot of the stairs, Vincent could hear the noisy pumps churning the  
raw materia in the pool below. It took him a great deal of self-control to  
endure the pungent smell and sweltering heat.  
  
The hall diverged into two paths: one led straight up to the delivery  
pipes above, while the other to the main bridge across the materia pool.  
Vincent motioned his head towards the direction of the main bridge. He  
would take this path. Davoren nodded his head in agreement, then took the  
other path up to the delivery pipes.  
  
Vincent cautiously emerged into the main bridge. This large bridge  
stretched from one end of the Reactor to the other, straight across a pool  
of cool, emerald green materia. He noted with casual interest the thin  
metallic churners which monotonously revolved around the thick materia.  
  
It was unnaturally quiet.  
  
Vincent's sharp eyes darted all around the place as he stepped across the  
bridge. His gun was gripped tightly between his rigid fingers; hot sweat  
trickled down his tense face. He felt very tired.  
  
"LOOK OUT!!!" shrieked a wild voice.  
  
Before Vincent could fully turn around, a violent bullet grazed his arm,  
causing him to nearly stumble backwards with the impact.  
  
He immediately aimed his gun at the source of the attack, but stopped  
short in alarm: his assailant had a young woman as hostage.  
  
This terrorist, a bulky man with a bloody kerchief tied around his head,  
held this poor young woman infront of him, with his gun pressed against her  
throat. The woman, mad with fear, sobbed hysterically. It had taken her  
unimaginable courage just to warn Vincent.  
  
"Okay, asshole!" bellowed the terrorist, tightening his grip around the  
woman, "Drop the gun!!"  
  
Vincent's eyes narrowed sternly, but he kept his gun fixed on the  
terrorist. He said nothing.  
  
"Drop it, I say!!" thundered the man. He squeezed his gun against the  
woman's throat, making her scream even more wildly, "Drop it, or I'll kill  
her!! I will!!"  
  
Vincent knit his brows in contempt, then dropped the gun infront of him.  
  
"Goddamn Turks!!" spat the terrorist, "Think you can friggin' do whatever  
you want! RAISE YER HANDS, BASTARD!! NOW!!!"  
  
Vincent raised his hands obediently. His cool eyes shone with strange  
composure.  
  
The terrorist gasper angrily as he glared at Vincent, his new prisoner.  
However, a cocky grin soon spread all over his sweaty face. This situation  
obviously amused him greatly: he had just captured an actual Turk!  
  
"HAH! Not so tough without your goddamn gun, eh?" the man sneered with  
relish, "You Turks think yer so high 'n mighty, when you're nothin' but  
yellow-bellied wimps!!"  
  
"At least I hide behind a gun instead of a woman," Vincent remarked  
calmly.  
  
The terrorist blinked stupidly at the answer, then snarled, "SHUT UP,  
SMART-ASS!!! You sure got balls opening your mouth!!"  
  
Vincent only rolled his eyes in scorn, which enraged the terrorist  
further. The man suddenly stepped forward, dragging the trembling young  
woman with him. His brawny arm still held her infront of his large body.  
  
"What's your name?" the terrorist thundered, pointing his gun straight at  
Vincent's head.  
  
"Valentine."  
  
"Huh!! And what's YOUR name, missy?" the man demanded. He tightened his  
grip on the helpless woman to force out an answer.  
  
"..L..Lucrecia, sir...," she finally sobbed.  
  
"Lucrecia, eh?" the brutal terrorist asked, "You ever seen a dead body,  
Lucrecia?"  
  
"Y..yes..sir..,"  
  
"Where?!" he demanded savagely.  
  
"Ah!! In..in the morgue..."  
  
Vincent glanced at something near the pipes above, but instantly riveted  
his eyes back on the terrorist's face. He seemed to grow more and calm and  
collected with every minute.  
  
"But you never seen a body dying infront of ya?" the man scoffed. He  
glared ruthlessly at Vincent face.  
  
"..n..no, sir..," Lucrecia wailed.  
  
"Well, yer in luck, honey!" the terrorist laughed as he got ready to pull  
the trigger, "You can see Valentine die infront of you!!"  
  
But three loud gunshots from above instantly interrupted the man. He shot  
his head up to the pipes high above the bridge, then spotted Davoren  
crouching unsteadily over one of the delivery pipes. Obviously, Davoren had  
fired those three shots into the air.  
  
"SHIT!!!" roared the terrorist savagely. His gun immediately opened fire  
at Davoren. The assailant had been successfully distracted.  
  
In a flash, Vincent lunged for his dropped gun, then fired one single shot  
at the stupid terrorist: the bullet missed the woman's head by an inch, but  
pierced straight through the man's skull.  
  
Wild with pain, the terrorist twisted around as he tried to scream  
outloud. However, his clumsy body suddenly stumbled over the railing of the  
bridge, and he plunged into the pool of green materia below. He never  
emerged again.  
  
"Valentine!! You okay?!" called Davoren from above when he had steadied  
himself again. He sounded very worried.  
  
Vincent nodded his head at his leader.  
  
"Hang on! I'll be down there in a minute!!" Davoren shouted. He began to  
backtrack from the huge delivery pipe.  
  
Davoren, in truth, had went as agreed to check the delivery pipes above;  
but on hearing Lucrecia's scream and a loud gunshot, had immediately rushed  
to investigate the matter. He had seen Vincent being held at gunpoint, so  
decided to act quickly.  
  
He had climbed onto one of the large delivery pipes, hoping that if he  
could distract the terrorist long enough, Vincent would use the opportunity  
wisely.  
  
Much to his relief, Vincent had used it.  
  
As he thrust his gun back into its holster, Vincent finally noticed poor  
Lucrecia standing rooted to her spot. Her wild eyes stared blankly at  
nothing. Her hair hung in loose strands all around her head, making her seem  
more shocked than ever.  
  
Vincent glanced uncomfortably at the distraught woman, then walked over to  
check whether she was injured at all.  
  
"Miss? Are you all right?" he asked concernedly. He stood exactly one step  
away from her.  
  
The young woman started on hearing his voice so close, and gaped emptily  
at him. Suddenly, her eyes flashed with unmistakable fury.  
  
"YOU JACKASS!!" she cried, slapping him clean across the face with all her  
might. The slap cracked like a whip against the man's cheek.  
  
Vincent, with one hand over his cheek, stared in absolute disbelief at the  
infuriated young woman. Somehow, that wasn't quite the response he had  
expected.  
  
"You could have killed ME with that damn stunt of yours, idiot!!!" the  
woman thundered, "You only missed me by a hair!! I can still hear the  
bullet whiz by ear!!"  
  
Tears began to flood her eyes. Her hand trembled violently as she glared  
at the astonished Vincent. However, he only blinked confusedly back at her,  
as though he could not understand a word.  
  
"God..of all the irresponsible...male-chauvinistic..," Lucrecia spluttered  
angrily. But she could not bear this man any longer. She stormed away from  
Vincent, beside herself with rage.  
  
"Um..you're welcome," Vincent said after she had left.  
  
  
-end of Chp.16

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	14. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.17  
  
"Oy! If I see another bairn again, I think I'll go mad!" exclaimed Gerald  
vexedly.  
  
"And what on earth is a 'bairn'?" asked Cindy in amusement.  
  
During one lazy afternoon, three days after the Reactor incident, the four  
Turks had found enough time for some coffee and a friendly chat. Cindy had  
been lounging on a couch, reading some fashion magazine, when she had  
spotted Vincent leaving the library. The woman immediately called him, and  
insisted in her usual sweet way he join her for a cup of coffee in the  
ShinRa cafe. Vincent, of course, could not refuse her.  
  
While Cindy was chattering away to the silent Vincent about some trifle  
subject, Davoren had chanced upon the two. Eager for more company, Cindy  
kindly invited him to join them as well.  
  
Soon, Gerald had stormed into the cafe, muttering curses in his strange  
dialect. He collapsed into a chair at the table of his friends, guzzled his  
coffee down, then made that bizarre exclamation.  
  
"A bairn!" he insisted, eyeing Cindy suspiciously, "Ye know! A child!"  
  
"Oh? You don't like children?"  
  
"Fuh! I liked 'em until now!" the Turk spluttered.  
  
Vincent sipped his coffee quietly, then checked his watch. Davoren,  
laughing good-humouredly, offered the angry Gerald a cigarette to soothe  
him. The Turk snatched it in annoyance.  
  
"I'm just after kidnapping a lit'le rugrat," Gerald muttered as he forced  
the cigarette into his mouth, "Aie, the guttersnipe! He wouldn't stop  
crying! Gave me this flippin' headache, blast 'im."  
  
Cindy could not stop laughing at his childish anger. Davoren lighted  
Gerald's cigarette, then lighted one for himself too. Vincent politely  
refused the cigarette Davoren offered him.  
  
"Damned if I ever have a bairn!" Gerald scowled, "Ugh! The very thought  
turns me stomach!"  
  
Gerald was a sandy-haired young man around 23 years old, from the far, far  
North. He was of medium height, with sharp, rugged features and bright  
green eyes. His parents, proud owners of some huge farm in the North, had  
slaved most of their lives just to get their son into ShinRa Inc. as a desk  
clerk.  
  
But Gerald had become a Turk by sheer accident: when some important ShinRa  
official had ridiculed his foreign accent, Gerald broke the man's nose with  
one punch. The ShinRa President, delighted with Gerald's spirit (he didn't  
like that official either), had made him a Turk.  
  
Cindy, a raven-haired beauty around 22 years old, came from a more genteel  
background. She had a soft, slim figure, with dark brown eyes. Both her  
parents were business owners of some importance, and at first had enrolled  
her as a secretary in ShinRa Inc. Much to their dismay, their willful  
daughter found the job 'boring and useless'; she applied to be a Turk  
instead. The President at first had expressed some skepticism on account of  
her being a young woman, but eventually had accepted her.  
  
Vincent did not know much about Davoren's background, only that ShinRa  
valued him, and that virtually everyone who worked in that company honored  
him greatly. Indeed, even those who hated him felt a certain amount of  
respect for this Turk: for when Davoren performed his job, he made sure it  
was a job well done.  
  
When Gerald had finished venting his hatred on children in general, the  
conversation turned to the Reactor incident of three days ago.  
  
"Ey, lad," Gerald smiled at Vincent, "And how'd ye manage with those  
terrorists? Yer arm was injured, I hear."  
  
"Oh, it was nothing, really," Vincent mumbled, swirling his coffee cup  
nervously, "The bullet only grazed my arm. In fact, it barely touched my  
skin."  
  
"Aye. Well, never ye mind," he comforted, nodding his head knowledgeably,  
"I'm sure ye'll do better next time, lad. We were all beginners at one  
stage."  
  
Vincent only knit his brows as a response. It annoyed him when Gerald  
treated him as a clueless "beginner"...almost as much as that ridiculous  
nickname "lad".  
  
"Huh! He may be a beginner Turk," Davoren interjected, puffing his  
cigarette coolly, "But he's a first-class master with that gun of  
his...WAY better than you, Gerald."  
  
Gerald, of course, instantly demanded an explanation. So, Davoren began a  
lengthy description of Vincent's impressive skills with the gun,  
emphasizing his accuracy in particular.  
  
The two Turks, especially Cindy, listened very attentively, but Vincent  
only fidgeted nervously in his seat. Praise, even well-meant, had never  
pleased him at all. He was more satisfied to fulfill his duty without  
recounting the means.  
  
"Bet you can't do THAT with a gun, Gerald," teased Cindy, trying to look  
innocent, "And you can't call it 'beginner's luck' either, eh?"  
  
"Balderdash!" scoffed Gerald as he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray.  
He eyed Vincent with evident interest, but said nothing.  
  
"Wait, I'm not finished yet," Davoren chuckled, "Lemme tell you how he  
wasted the last terrorist..."  
  
The image of Lucrecia suddenly sprang to Vincent's mind as Davoren began  
the little story. His hand involuntarily reached for the cheek she had  
slapped so violently. Her slap, in fact, had hurt him more than the  
gunshot.  
  
"Who was that?" Vincent asked when Davoren had finished talking.  
  
"Hm? Who was what?"  
  
"That..that woman the terrorist had hostage," Vincent explained timidly,  
"Who was she?"  
  
"Oh..um...she's that new lab assistant..," Davoren thought aloud, his  
cigarette in his mouth, "..yeah..I think her name's Lucrecia.."  
  
No sooner had Davoren uttered her name, than Gerald spat out the coffee he  
was sipping. He appeared very excited all of a sudden.  
  
"Are ye joking?!" he cried, grabbing Vincent's sleeve frantically, "Ye  
saved Lucrecia, did ye?!!"  
  
"Uh..yeah..I guess.."  
  
"Aye! You lucky dog, you!!"  
  
Several people in the cafe turned their heads towards the direction of the  
Turks. Cindy glared suspiciously at Gerald, not at all pleased with his  
obvious enthusiasm. She then began to coolly poke at her piece of cake with  
a fork. Davoren smoked his cigarette silently, wondering why that woman's  
name had aroused such excitement in this Turk.  
  
"I bet she was all over ye!" laughed Gerald with a sly nudge, "C'mon! Out  
with it! What's she say to ye, lad?"  
  
Vincent's cheeks flushed slightly in confusion: he could have said that  
Lucrecia had slapped him, called him a jackass amongst other things, then  
stormed away without any thanks. But instead, Vincent only answered,  
"Nothing, actually...she just walked away."  
  
"Don't be too disappointed, lad," Gerald sighed, "She's always after  
giving us poor men the brush-off. But damn me if she isn't a fine, pleasing  
lit'le thing!!"  
  
"Huh! You seem to know a lot about Lucrecia, Gerald," Cindy muttered with  
apparent scorn. She placed one hand under her chin, and impertintly looked  
away.  
  
"And who wouldn't?" he snapped back defiantly, "Just about every man here  
has noticed her! But she always gives 'em the cold-shoulder!"  
  
Vincent tapped the table top, sorry he had mentioned the subject. Davoren  
continued to puff at his cigarette quietly. This conversation only  
interested him mildly.  
  
"She only thinks of her work," Gerald complained, turning to Vincent  
again, "All she ever does is run around that lab upstairs. She won't even  
give a man a chance to open his mouth 'afore she walks away! Aye, she's too  
obsessed with her job, she is."  
  
"I believe the word is 'dedicated'," corrected Cindy.  
  
"Mebbe so...but what an absolute angel! A beautiful face! A nice lit'le  
waist I'm sure any man'd love to hold..a pair of slender legs..an'.."  
  
"Now, Gerald," Davoren scolded firmly, "None of THAT, please."  
  
"I'm telling ye, lad," Gerald resumed after he apologized, "I once tried  
to chat her up. Dammy, she wouldn't let me finish me sentence! She just  
brushed past me like I wasn't there at all! I think it was me accent she  
didn't like."  
  
"Yeah..that must've been it," Cindy mumbled sarcastically. She only  
"humph"ed when Gerald glared at her.  
  
"Ey! Ey! Lemme tell ye this story, lad!" Gerald resumed, much amused,  
"See, every man in ShinRa was interested in Lucrecia when she first came.  
One day, Donal went up to her an'.."  
  
But the minute he blurted out that name, Gerald instantly smacked both  
hands over his mouth. Cindy gave a violent start at the name, then darted  
her head towards Davoren in alarm. Vincent looked around at the nervous  
company, wondering why the name "Donal" frightened the two Turks so much.  
  
Davoren, however, puffed out a cloud of smoke in a very cool manner, as  
though Gerald had said nothing at all.  
  
"D..Davoren..Sir..," Gerald stammered anxiously, "I..I'm sorry..I  
shouldn't ha'.."  
  
"Excuse me," Davoren replied curtly, "The President said he wanted to see  
me now."  
  
After carelessly flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, Davoren walked  
away from the group. He said nothing more.  
  
An unnatural silence fell on the group when their leader had left.  
  
The remaining three Turks, especially Cindy and Gerald, fidgeted  
nervously in their seats. Judging from their apparent embarrassment,  
Vincent guessed this "Donal" fellow bore great importance to Davoren.  
Gerald coughed to ease the tension, but that only added to his awkwardness.  
Cindy's brown eyes flared up at him in anger.  
  
"You and your big mouth!!" she snapped at him all of a sudden, "You just  
HAD to mention Donal! Couldn't sleep tonight unless you said his name,  
could you?!"  
  
"Look, I'm sorry!" Gerald apologized fiercely, "I didn't mean to say his  
name!! It was a fliipin' accident!!!! Alright?!!!"  
  
the two dissentient Turks began to argue vehemently, one accusing while  
the other defending, until Vincent asked bluntly "Who's Donal?"  
  
Both Turks stopped short on hearing the simple question, then suddenly  
fell quiet again. Vincent watched them hum and haw for a full minute, each  
waiting for the other to speak first.  
  
"Donal was the Turk before ye, lad," Gerald finally replied, "..He was  
Davoren's lit'le brother...his only brother.."  
  
Vincent was silent for a moment before he inquired, "Did he have a fight  
with Davoren? Is that why you're not supposed to mention his name?"  
  
"No. Donal disappeared...about seven months ago..and still 'aven't been  
found yet."  
  
In half an hour, the two Turks had finished recounting the full story:  
Donal, a sprightly young man barely 21 years old, was sent on a simple  
escort mission to some remote town called Wutai. One week later, he  
mysteriously disappeared.  
  
Naturally, ShinRa Inc. combed the entire island for Donal, questioned  
several witnesses, even sent a full search party to Wutai. Nothing. The  
Turk had simply vanished off the face of the earth.  
  
"But the mongrels searched for only two weeks!" remarked Gerald  
contemptuously, "'Full search party', bloody muck! They never even found  
his body!"  
  
Nevertheless, Donal was declared to be dead, at least officially. ShinRa,  
indeed gave up the costly search after only two weeks, and easily found a  
substitute: Vincent.  
  
However, Davoren angrily demanded ShinRa continue the search for his  
missing brother. When President ShinRa refused, Davoren insulted the man  
straight to his face, then signed his own resignation paper: If ShinRa  
would not search for his brother, he personally would.  
  
"He..quit??" Vincent interrupted in amazement.  
  
"No way!" Cindy answered, shaking her head vigorously, "The President  
refused point blank to accept Davoren's resignation, even after all the  
insults. Good Turks like him are hard to find, if you know what I mean."  
  
"So..what happened after that?"  
  
"Well, Davoren kept on insisting his brother was alive, and ShinRa kept on  
telling him he was dead, until the poor man had a serious mental breakdown.  
They even had to hospitalize him later on."  
  
"Aye," Gerald agreed with a melancholy sigh, "Davoren had practically  
raised his lit'le brother. And when he lost him so suddenly, ye might say  
he lost his will to live as well."  
  
The President, realizing how devastating the loss had been on Davoren,  
immediately granted him an extended vacation for three months; to "get his  
life back together", as he later expressed. Gerald and Cindy, under the  
President's orders, advised Davoren to take the needed vacation, and stay  
in ShinRa. Too heartbroken to argue, Davoren eventually agreed.  
  
"Y'know that day we stormed the Reactor was his first day back on the  
job," Cindy concluded at last, "He appears to be coping well..but I don't  
think he ever recovered from the blow."  
  
A heavy silence fell on the three Turks again, making them appear very

awkward to the other people in the cafe; even the waitress who brought them  
the check could not help giving them an odd look. Cindy gazed vacantly at  
Gerald twirl his fork between his clumsy fingers. Vincent placed one hand  
under his chin, and stared at the dismal grey skyline outside the huge  
glazed windows.  
  
He felt particularly embarrassed for starting this conversation. His mind  
fumbled for some excuse to leave until the intercom on the wall saved him.  
  
"Mr. Valentine," called a clear voice through the intercom, "Please report  
to the President's office. Mr. Valentine to the President's office."  
  
Vincent immediately rose to leave, mumbling a hurried farewell to the two  
Turks. However, Cindy stood up with him as well.  
  
"Wait, I'll walk you there, Vincent," she smiled coquettishly, glancing at  
the astonished Gerald for a moment, "I have something very important to  
tell you."  
  
Before Vincent had a chance to protest, the woman slipped her graceful  
arm around his, and smiled so innocently into his face so as to render him  
silent. Gerald, fuming with rage for some unknown reason, scoffed audibly  
as he turned his head away from the two. Cindy pretended she had seen  
nothing, then sweetly pulled Vincent out of the cafe.  
  
"Heh heh," she sniggered when they had left, "Gerald's so cute when he  
gets angry.."  
  
The two walked down the corridor to the President's office, brushing past  
employees who bustled about to finish their work. It was already six  
o'clock in the evening. Vincent did not quite understand what "important"  
thing Cindy wished to tell him, but asked no questions.  
  
She probably just wanted to tease Gerald..the little flirt, he thought to  
himself.  
  
As the two ascended the steps to the office, Cindy suddenly tugged  
Vincent's arm to stop him. Her face still retained a childishly sweet  
expression, but her brown eyes lit up with a cunning gleam.  
  
"Hey, Vincent," she whispered, peering slyly into his quizzical face, "Do  
you know who asked me about you yesterday?"  
  
From her guileful look and playful voice, Vincent guessed he should know.  
Unfortunately, no one came to his mind. He only shrugged his shoulders  
dejectedly.  
  
"Why, Lucrecia, silly!" she announced.  
  
"What?!" he cried, completely stunned with the answer.  
  
"Oh, yeah, it's true," Cindy resumed innocently, "See, yesterday, I was  
hanging around the Main Reception Hall, when she walked up to me. She asked  
me if a knew a Turk called 'Valentine'. Of course, I pretended I was stupid  
and asked her to describe you for me, which she did. I could tell she was  
REALLY interested in you just from the way she described you."  
  
Vincent blinked in surprise at her. Her sinister artfulness simply  
astounded him.  
  
"'Oh!' I said, 'THAT Valentine!'. So, I told her a bit about you," Cindy  
laughed, winking at him,  
"Don't worry, I put in a good word for you."  
  
He only managed to nod his head as acknowledgment for her kindness.  
  
"I'm happy she'd interested in you, Vincent," Cindy smiled angelically,  
"Goodness only knows WHAT I would have done to her if she were interested  
in Gerald. She would have made me really jealous!"  
  
So, with another carefree laugh, Cindy bade Vincent a sweet adieu, and  
skipped down the stairs. Vincent's eyes followed her until she had  
disappeared from his sight, then resumed his journey up the steps.  
  
He had plenty of time to collect his scattered thoughts; plenty of time to  
push away all those "useless frivolities" and "silly nonsense". So that by  
the time he reached the President's office, Vincent had completely  
re-focused his mind on his job.  
  
  
-End of Chp.17

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	15. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.18  
  
President ShinRa made no secret of his love for ostentatious luxury, as  
could be guessed from his enormous office which occupied the entire 70th  
floor.  
  
This spacious office, bordered with glazed windows all around, betrayed  
every sign of incredible wealth and comfort. The marble floor was  
impeccably waxed everyday. Large, elaborate lanterns illuminated every  
corner of the office, for the sole purpose of showing off the magnitude of  
the room.  
  
But most importantly, the President's impressive desk dominated the entire  
front of the office. It rigidly curved into a U-shape, with all sorts of  
screen monitors, buttons, and speakers adorning its interior. Many had  
described this famous desk as the symbol of the vast wealth ShinRa had  
accumulated in a mere three years.  
  
Vincent marched into this office, looking as morose and serious as ever.  
The ShinRa President, who was ranting angrily into the phone, beckoned for  
the Turk to step forward. Vincent obediently stood infront of the large  
desk, and waited for the President to address him.  
  
Though ShinRa was around 28 years old, he looked much older. His short,  
corpulent figure tended to waddle whenever he moved excitedly about the  
room. His coarse, mustard-colored hair had been forcefully combed back,  
while a trim moustache outlined his upper lip. Virtually everyone agreed  
ShinRa's most prominent feature was his nose. Indeed, it was a snub-shaped,  
stubby nose with wide nostrils. To be blunt, he was hopelessly ugly.  
  
Nevertheless, what ShinRa lacked in looks, he cleverly made up in style.  
His smart, dark-pink suit was undoubtedly tailored in the very best of  
shops. He always propped the most expensive fountain pen in his breast  
pocket, even though he never used it. A magnificent moonstone ring adorned  
his fat middle finger, and magically shimmered whenever his hand moved.  
  
But his most beloved article of luxury, besides his impressive desk, was  
his specially imported cigars. Vincent could not remember him without a  
cigar stuck either in his mouth, or between his clumsy fingers.  
  
When finally done heckling, President ShinRa slammed the phone shut with a  
violent oath. However, on noticing the Turk, his face shifted from a scowl  
to a good-natured, hideous smile. He automatically reached for a cigar.  
  
"Ah, Vincent," he greeted as he lit the cigar, "And how is our  
newly-appointed Turk doing? Enjoying your job, I hope?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," Vincent replied coldly but respectfully.  
  
The President huffed out three perfect circles of smoke, watching them  
disappear into thin air with absurd fascination. Vincent did not flinch a  
muscle. He knew the President didn't call him just for an idle chat.  
  
"Davoren just finished his report about you, Vincent," ShinRa chattered  
on, "And what a delightful report! He was really impressed with your gun  
skills, obedience, and a string of other things I can't remember at the  
moment. Now that's what I need, by Juniper! Good Turks who can take  
orders!"  
  
Vincent merely pushed his black hair out of his face impatiently. He  
didn't find this praise very meaningful. The President began to rummage  
through a stack of papers heaped on his desk, laughing as happily as ever.  
  
"Mind you," he joked without looking up, "If Davoren himself says you're  
good, then you MUST be good. It's not easy to impress that man. No! No!"  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
"But he also said your 'sense of tactics' could use some help, especially  
in open, all-out combat," The President remarked. He pulled out some  
papers, then added playfully, "but this isn't military school, you know!  
This is a company! And it's about to become a monopoly very soon."  
  
The President suddenly pressed a button on the intercom, and ordered  
sternly, "Bring him in to me now, Katya."  
  
"Yes, Mr. President. Right away," replied a woman's voice. She sounded  
very annoyed.  
  
The President took a huge whiff at his cigar. As he puffed out an  
impressive amount of smoke, he eyed the Turk very keenly. His two piggish  
eyes instantly lit up with a dark, evil fire.  
  
Vincent saw he was finally getting to the point.  
  
"Tell me, Vincent," he said at last, "do you know who Mr. Hawking is?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. He's the President of the Hawking Industrial Corporation of  
Midgar."  
  
"Right on the nail!" laughed ShinRa, shaking his filthy cigar in Vincent's  
face, "And I made Gerald kidnap a 'bairn', to use his words. Can you guess  
whose?"  
  
Vincent paused a moment before he answered, "I assume it is Hawking's  
child, Sir."  
  
"Very good!" he beamed delightedly.  
  
ShinRa hopped into his dark leather chair, still puffing his cigar smugly.  
He held his hand at arm's length, so as to study his beautiful moonstone  
ring, then continued, "See, that Hawking geezer thinks he can stand up  
against ME with his out-dated scrap of garbage he calls a 'company'. Did  
you know he hired those terrorists to destroy my Reactor?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. I did."  
  
"Now, I suppose I could be an uncivilized ass and tell you to go shoot  
him, like you did with the Mayor. On the other hand, I got this brilliant  
idea to get even with him! Yup, hang me if I'm not a genius!"  
  
Vincent hoped he wasn't expected to answer that last comment.  
  
The President roared with laughter at his "brilliant idea" until Katya,  
his secretary, stormed into his office with a sobbing young boy. The child,  
no older than eight, screamed furiously as the woman dragged him forward.  
He clutched at his stuffed toy as though it would somehow protect it from  
these strangers.  
  
Vincent looked askance at the small, shrieking child, then understood why  
Gerald had been so annoyed that afternoon.  
  
"Mr. President!!" Katya declared, exasperated beyond limits, "This brat is  
driving everyone nuts!! He hasn't stopped crying since he got here!! We  
tried T.V, stories, even lullabies for God's sake!! He will not shut up!!!"  
  
The angry secretary gave the poor child a violent tug, which made him  
scream at the top of his lungs. Vincent fidgeted uncomfortably as the  
child's shrieks hammered his ears. However, the President beckoned for  
Katya to bring the boy over to him. She silently obeyed, only too glad to  
rid herself of the troublesome burden.  
  
"Hey, kiddo! Why are you giving everyone such a hard time?" the President  
smiled amicably. He perched the sobbing child on his knees, then laughed,  
"C'mon! Tell Uncle ShinRa why you're crying so much?"  
  
"I wah..I WANT MY DADDY!!!" screamed the pitiful boy. He then buried his  
tearful face in his stuffed toy, unable to say anymore.  
  
"Aw! We're going to see Daddy right now!" comforted ShinRa kindly as he  
stroked the little boy's hair, "We're all going to see him! C'mon, now! Big  
boys never cry!"  
  
The boy continued to sniffle loudly, but his shoulders stopped shaking.  
That last piece of news had somewhat comforted him.  
  
"Hey! I know what you really want!" the President cried happily, "Lookie!  
Lookie! Candy tarts!!"  
  
His fat hand immediately reached for the drawer, and pulled out a neat  
bowl full of colorful candies. The boy marveled at so many sweets, his  
wet eyes dazzled by the bright colors. He then looked amazedly at this  
ugly man.  
  
"Well, go on! Take one. Hell, take as many as you want!" the President  
laughed, "Take it all, if you can have it all! That's what I always say!"  
  
After some hesitation, the boy snatched a handful of sweets, and stuffed  
them into his mouth at once. ShinRa only redoubled his laughter at the  
boy's childish greediness.  
  
"Say! What a cute little bear!" he exclaimed as he patted the stuffed toy,  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Woody," the boy sniffled with a mouthful of sweets.  
  
"Here you go, Woody! Have some candy tarts too!" The President  
chuckled, pretending to give the toy some sweets.  
  
So, in a mere ten minutes, the illustrious President ShinRa had not only  
silenced the sobbing child, but had also made great friends with him. The  
boy squealed with laughter, and prattled on about many things (like Woody,  
his best friend Mark, and Daddy's garden). Vincent was certainly impressed.  
  
When the President finally placed the boy back on the ground, he slowly  
got up from his leather seat. He took a last whiff at his beloved cigar,  
then flung it away in a silver ashtray nearby.  
  
"Katya," he ordered sternly, "Tell Davoren to get the car ready. We leave  
in fifteen minutes."  
  
Katya, absolutely stunned by his success with the child, immediately  
scurried away to fulfill his wishes. ShinRa took the boy's little hand in his  
awkward paw, but stared straight at Vincent's face. That carefree, inane  
smile had been replaced by a serious, business-like expression.  
  
"You're coming too, Mr. Valentine," the President stated, "We're paying a  
little visit to Mr. Hawking's mansion. Be sure you're downstairs on time.  
Dismissed."  
  
Vincent, after a respectful bow, silently marched out of the luxurious  
office.  
  
The child's happy laughter still rang in his ears, even after he had  
entered the glazed elevator and sealed himself inside. The slow elevator  
steadily journeyed down to the ground floor. Vincent leaned his back  
against the elevator wall with folded arms, and gazed meditatively at the  
grim Midgar skyline outside. It was already pitch black outside.  
  
He had a vague idea what the President intended to do with that child:  
most probably some kind of revenge on Hawking for disrupting his Reactor.  
But Vincent also strongly suspected an ulterior motive for kidnapping  
Hawking's son. If not, then why didn't he order Gerald to just kill the  
boy?  
  
Thus argued Vincent in his brain, debating about what secret motive the  
boy could serve. So engrossed in his private thoughts, he hardly noticed  
the elevator halt momentarily to admit another person inside. His idle eyes  
happened to glance at the new passenger. Much to his astonishment, it was  
Lucrecia.  
  
The woman fidgeted at the far end of the elevator, staring timidly at the  
Turk from the corner of her eye. Her cheeks flushed when he had finally  
noticed her, but she kept her soft eyes fixed on his face.  
  
Vincent, of course, straightened himself up at once. He ran his fingers  
through his thick, black hair as he cast his nervous eyes to the ground.  
Not knowing what else to do, he thrust both hands into his pockets, and  
turned away from the embarrassed young woman.  
  
The pain of her slap prickled his cheek again. He could still recall how  
badly it had stung him for a full hour afterwards; he had even considered  
putting some ice on it.  
  
Yet strange, he could not quite remember Lucrecia's actual face. In fact,  
she had been severely blurred in his memory during the last three days.  
Vincent glimpsed very quickly at her, but long enough to see all her face.  
  
Gerald hadn't exaggerated one bit when he had described Lucrecia as  
"beautiful". Her long, brown hair had been carefully braided behind her  
head, with some loose strands dangling around her delicate face. Her gentle  
eyes shone softly through her smart glasses, making her lovely face appear  
even more graceful.  
  
She wore a long, white lab coat which dismally failed to conceal the  
slimness of her body. Her hands struggled vigorously to carry several files  
and a large book, while at the same time balance her briefcase.  
  
An extremely awkward silence dominated the elevator for a full minute.  
Vincent lacked the courage to open his mouth for fear of angering her (or  
getting slapped again). And besides, what could he possibly tell her?  
  
Cindy's playful words floated back to his mind. It then occurred to him  
that Lucrecia had been asking about him just yesterday.  
  
"How..how is your arm, Mr. Valentine, Sir?" Lucrecia asked all of a  
sudden. She looked anxiously at his face as she pushed her glasses up her  
nose.  
  
Vincent stared blankly at her for a moment.  
  
"My arm??" he echoed in amazement.  
  
"Yes, Sir. The one that got shot."  
  
"Oh! My arm!" he started, understanding her at last, "..er..it's fine,  
thanks to you. you warned me just in time."  
  
"Good...I..I'm very pleased to hear that," she faltered nervously.  
Suddenly, one of her clumsy files crashed onto the ground, scattering all  
its papers around the poor woman's feet. Lucrecia's cheeks flushed heavily  
with complete mortification. Vincent automatically crouched down to gather  
the file for her.  
  
"NO!NO! I'll get that!!" she cried in alarm. In a flash, she bent down to  
snatch the file out of his hands. Her nervous hands quickly stuffed all the  
dispersed papers into the file. she sprang back up to her feet just as the  
elevator door withdrew on the ground floor. After mumbling some obscure  
apology, Lucrecia bolted out of the elevator in a panic.  
  
Without another look back, she dashed through the reception hall, nearly  
knocking over some employee with a stack full of papers. Lucrecia ran out the  
main entrance, and Vincent saw her no more.  
  
He followed her a couple of steps, but soon halted in the middle of the  
reception hall, completely dumbstruck. He had only exchanged a few words  
with her; what on earth could he have said to upset her so badly?  
  
As he scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, his eyes caught two  
yellow sheets of papers helplessly crushed underneath his foot. He picked  
them up curiously.  
  
They must have slipped out of her file, Vincent reflected.  
  
Even though they were two sheets of ordinary paper, he flicked through  
them with strange interest. Neat, tiny handwriting completely covered one  
page, while the other contained a little sketch with the name "JENOVA"  
scribbled underneath it. Vincent studied the sketch, trying to figure out  
what it should be. Unfortunately, his shoe had dirtied it beyond  
recognition.  
  
After a moment's thought, Vincent carefully folded the two sheets and  
slipped them into his breast pocket. He would return them first thing in  
the morning...  
  
But for now, he must concentrate on his job.  
  
  
End of Chp.18

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	16. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.19  
  
The Hawking Mansion, comfortably snuggled in the far outskirts of Midgar,  
overlooked one of the most magnificent gardens ever seen. This impressive  
house, with beautifully stained windows and a pea-green brass gate,  
betrayed great signs of aristocratic taste. Large bay windows bulged  
between the marble columns that extended high up to the roof. In addition,  
green ivy leaves crawled over parts of the mansion, adding to its magical  
charm.  
  
As night finally devoured the sky, a pearly round moon hung itself high  
above the beautiful mansion. Silence crept around the majestic garden,  
shushing any kind of disruptive noise. But while this death-like stillness  
hovered outside the mansion, a bright, warm light flickered through one of  
the upper windows inside. Occasionally, an obscure shadow peeked through  
the curtains, then reluctantly retreated back.  
  
Silence ruled the garden supreme until a black, shiny car ruthlessly  
shattered the tranquility into oblivion. It noisily invaded the garden,  
zooming over the cobblestone path. As the car neared the mansion, it  
gradually slowed down until finally halting at the large brass gate.  
  
Davoren, who had been the driver, immediately alighted the black car to  
open the door for President ShinRa. At the same time, Vincent dismounted  
with the little child sleeping soundly between his arms. Because his cold  
face had frightened the boy to silence, Vincent had been unanimously chosen  
to manage the child in the car. The boy soon had soon fallen asleep in the  
Turk's lap, exhausted with all his previous crying.  
  
Vincent refused to comment when the President had called the spectacle  
"cute".  
  
After gently nudging the sleeping child, Vincent set him on his two little  
feet, making sure the boy held onto his precious teddy bear. The sleepy boy  
blinked in silent wonder at the giant mansion, then stared way up at this  
tower of a Turk who had brought him here. Vincent watched the child closely  
least he would try to "misbehave". The child, of course, dared not even  
move a muscle under the Turk's keen, cold eyes.  
  
President ShinRa clumsily hopped out of the car, brushing the sleeve of  
his elegant suit. As he selected a cigar from his golden case, his piggish  
eyes happened to spot a black figure in the lit window above. However, this  
mysterious shadow soon disappeared again.  
  
Davoren silently lit the cigar for the President, then marched up to the  
huge brass gate. He only banged the heavy door-knocker one before a thin,  
drawn butler emerged through the gateway. He scanned the three guests  
insolently, giving Vincent a dirty look in particular (maybe because he  
happened to be nearest to the child). Without a word, the servant admitted  
them into the mansion, and slammed the gate shut again.  
  
The butler led the three visitors through the grand marble hall, and  
directly up the broad steps to Mr. Hawking's study room. Every object in  
this impressive hallway expressed elegant taste: a huge, brown vase  
embellished in gold occupied one entire corner, while various exotic plants  
and expensive oil paintings adorned the creamy-white stone walls. Thick  
velvet curtains heavily draped the large window at the landing of the  
staircase. Indeed, Mr. Hawking was well known for his fondness of classic  
antiques.  
  
President ShinRa could not help but whistle in genuine admiration.  
  
"What a beautiful mansion! Hawking sure has exquisite taste, eh Chuckles?"  
he laughed, addressing the stiff butler infront of him.  
  
The indignant servant immediately turned to answer the President, but the  
cold look on both Turks strongly discouraged him. Instead, he conducted  
these unwanted guests to the study room as quickly as possible. Vincent  
dragged the child along in an iron grip, even though he knew fully well the  
little boy wouldn't dream of escape.  
  
They finally reached the study room at the end of the hallway. The butler  
opened the stout oak doors for the visitors, giving each man a scornful  
look as he entered, then closed the doors after them.  
  
The guests stepped into a spacious, square room, with a large bay window  
exactly opposite the door. Two stately bookshelves stretched along the two  
walls, interrupted occasionally by a bronze statue or a beautiful painting.  
A majestic mahogany desk occupied the end of the room, demanding the  
admiration of all beholders. The three men found Mr. Hawking seated at this  
ornate desk, with nervous fingers twiddling anxiously.  
  
His grey eyes flared up furiously as President ShinRa swaggered into the  
room, followed by his two tall bodyguards. Vincent lingered a few steps  
behind the President with the child loosely held in his hand. Davoren stood  
directly infront of the heavy oak doors to bar any "uninvited" guests from  
intruding into this private meeting.  
  
Both Turks had assumed a hard, business-like air, while ShinRa smiled and  
puffed coolly at his cigar. One would have thought he were Hawking's best  
friend.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Hawking," greeted the ShinRa President amicably, "I was  
just telling your butler what a fine house you got here."  
  
"Bastard!!" roared Mr. Hawking at the top of his lungs. He sprang up to  
his feet and slammed the desk with both fists, "What have you done with my  
son, you despicable..."  
  
"Tsk! Language, Mr. Hawking!" The President scolded playfully as he shook  
his fat finger, "You shouldn't swear infront of little children. They're so  
impressionable."  
  
Saying that, President ShinRa stepped aside to let Mr. Hawking see his  
precious son. On spotting his father, the poor child shrieked "Daddy!". But  
before he could dash to his father, Vincent snagged his collar forcefully  
to hold him back. Davoren fixed his gaze on the struggling child who  
screamed in fear, yet said nothing.  
  
Vincent stared coldly down at the little boy squirm around in his tight  
grip. He did not speak either.  
  
"Now now!" ShinRa laughed at the pitiful child, "You mustn't interrupt  
when grown-ups are  
busy talking! That's very rude!"  
  
"Let him go!! I demand you release him now!!" thundered Mr. Hawking, much  
enraged by the rough treatment of his son.  
  
President ShinRa, with his cigar stuck between his twisted lips, eyes this  
incensed man contemptuously. The child's cried grew louder until Vincent  
cut him short with a sharp twist of the collar. The boy choked between  
sobs, but dared not scream anymore.  
  
"You 'demand'?" ShinRa echoed mockingly, "Pardon me if I beg to differ,  
Sir. It's the other way around: I demand, YOU obey."  
  
A heavy silence filled the room for a moment. It obviously took Mr.  
Hawking a great deal of restraint to soothe his raging emotions. His  
anxious eyes continuously returned to his son, then shot up to Vincent's  
cold face. They silently implored the Turk to be more gentle with his  
beloved son.  
  
But Vincent still kept a tight grip around the boy's collar.  
  
"What..what do you want?" Mr. Hawking finally muttered. He turned to  
ShinRa with clenched fists and angry eyes.  
  
"Compensation for the damage of my Reactor," he stated, puffing a full  
cloud of filthy smoke into his enemy's face.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir."  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry!" cried ShinRa sarcastically. He even smacked his puffy  
cheek in feigned embarrassment, "Lord mercy! I must have mistook you for  
ANOTHER Hawking who hired some  
shit-heads to disrupt my Reactor!"  
  
"Sir!" Hawking retorted indignantly, "If you go so far as to accuse me of  
hiring some terrorists to 'disrupt' your Reactor, then I assure you, I  
haven't.."  
  
"We have several documentations which are solid proof your involvement,  
Sir," Vincent interjected in a factual tone, "The documents clearly account  
the sum of money paid to the terrorists. In addition, they specifically  
enumerate the guns and ammunition supplied to those same men by your  
company."  
  
Hawking was dumbstruck.  
  
"Furthermore, Sir," continued Davoren instead, "We have numerous witnesses  
linking your agents to the terrorists. Finally, reliable sources indicate  
those terrorists had disrupted the ShinRa Reactor under your direct  
orders."  
  
Mr. Hawking gaped at the two men, crushed by the accumulation of evidence  
against him. His alarmed eyes darted from Vincent to Davoren in search of  
pity. But neither Turk would involve himself in this discourse, and stared  
coldly back at the crushed man. Their sole purpose had been to state the  
evidence.  
  
"See, it's not a question of whether you did it or not, Hawking," sneered  
ShinRa triumphantly, "It's rather how much compensation will you pay me. Do  
you understand, or do you want them to repeat all that again?"  
  
Hawking turned his head proudly to ShinRa, still too dignified to admit  
his involvement. The child stared tearfully at his "Daddy", but the grip on  
his collar barely allowed him to breathe let alone cry out. The two Turks  
kept their cool eyes riveted on the two presidents, awaiting any further  
orders.  
  
"If I pay you, will you release my son?" Hawking muttered through grit  
teeth. His eyes flared up angrily at President ShinRa's pudgy face.  
  
"Well, it depends. How much WILL you pay?"  
  
Hawking paused a moment, then stated, "Ten million gil."  
  
The President frowned at the generous sum, then began to waddle around the  
room, followed by the eyes of all those present.  
  
"Now, lemme see," he thought aloud, "Your thugs barge into my Reactor,  
threaten to kill my employees, including my best scientist, unless I shut  
it down. Not only that, they endanger the lives of my Turks."  
  
President ShinRa stopped at a marble bust of Mr. Hawking placed on a low  
silver column. His mean eyes studied the sculpture with evident interest.  
He then puffed smoke in its white face, and tapped his dirty cigar over its  
head.  
  
"Of course," the President resumed, "they end up destroying my furnace, a  
pressure gasket, pipes, and a whole list of other things that's gonna cost  
me a fortune to repair! You can bet your sweet patootie it will, Mac!!"  
  
He marched straight up to Mr. Hawking, his repulsive, bloated face fuming  
with increasing rage.  
  
"And finally, one of your shitty goons fell into my materia reservoir and  
clogged up the main drain! What fun we had fishing out his carcass And you  
offer me a measly ten million gil for ALL that?!  
I make 100 times that in one day!!"  
  
Mr. Hawking's eyes tensed in alarm. Sweat trickled down his wrinkled  
forehead. He had expected ShinRa to be quite pleased with the sum.  
  
"Now, if you really want to compensate me, Hawking," ShinRa said after he  
had calmed himself, "Give me your company, and watch me crush it infront of  
your eyes."  
  
Hawking's mouth dropped in astonishment at the outrageous proposal.  
  
"WHAT?!!!" he shouted, wild with rage.  
  
"If ShinRa Inc. becomes a monopoly," the ShinRa President explained  
sternly, "I could make more money than your puny brain can ever dream of.  
I'll be so busy counting my new profits, I just might forget this nasty  
incident. So, what will it be, old man? Is it a deal?"  
  
Mr. Hawking broke away with a violent oath. He stormed up to his desk,  
then suddenly turned around to face the three hateful guests. Though he  
addressed ShinRa, his wild eyes focused right on Vincent's face, as if  
daring him to harm his son.  
  
"My company was built by generations of Hawkings!" he thundered  
indignantly, "I will not hand over my company to a young, miserable upstart  
like YOU, Sir! Nor will I surrender the toil of my grandfathers for your  
grubby hands to wreck and make money off!! I do not regret what I did to  
your disgusting Reactor! You're nothing but a greedy, money-minded pig only  
concerned with your petty profits!! Rot in Hell!!"  
  
Both Turks exchanged a significant look, but immediately fixed their cold  
eyes back on their President. President ShinRa stared at his enemy, much  
impressed with his passionate outburst. He even flung his cigar on the  
carpet, and clapped his "grubby" hands in mocked admiration.  
  
Vincent narrowed his bright eyes, expecting some upcoming command any  
minute.  
  
"Nice speech, Hawking. I'm touched, really!" President ShinRa applauded  
with an evil grin. He suddenly stopped, and scoffed at the proud man.  
  
"Vincent," the President ordered coldly, "shoot the kid."  
  
Davoren gave a violent start on hearing the command.  
  
Vincent immediately yanked the small child off his feet by the collar and  
held him at eye-level. The boy struggled wildly for air amidst choked sobs  
until Vincent pressed the cold muzzle of his gun against his little head.  
The child instantly froze solid, his bleary eyes staring straight at his  
horrified father. He could not breathe anymore.  
  
"STOP!! WH..WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!" cried Mr. Hawking in alarm. His wild  
eyes darted between President ShinRa and Vincent, "LEAVE HIM ALONE!! HE'S  
JUST A BABY!!!"  
  
The ShinRa President gave Vincent a meaningful look, then waddled over to  
the petrified Hawking. Vincent felt the child's body grow heavy, but still  
kept the gun at his small head. Davoren stared intently at Vincent from  
behind.  
  
"You can't have your cake and eat it, Mr. Hawking," sneered ShinRa  
contemptuously, "It's either your company OR your son."  
  
"HAVE YOU NO CONSCIENCE, MAN??!!" cried the anguished Mr. Hawking, looking  
straight at Vincent in horror, "HAVE YOU NO HEART??!! YOU CAN'T SHOOT A  
CHILD!! YOU CAN'T!!!!"  
  
Vincent stared stoically back at the poor men. He did not flinch.  
  
"Of course he can!" ShinRa answered, "I pay him to shoot whoever I want  
shot!! You think he'll give a SHIT if he kills a little brat?! Go on,  
Vincent! Shoot him!!"  
  
"NO!! NO!! STOP!!!!"  
  
Mr. Hawking collapsed to his trembling knees, his grey eyes flooding with  
tears. The President looked down at his enemy's shaking body, then gave  
both Turks a triumphant wink. Neither man winced a muscle, or opened his  
mouth.  
  
"T..take my company if you want it, ShinRa!!" Hawking cried, burying his  
ashen face in both hands, "Take my house...take my life if that's what you  
want!! But please..PLEASE..don't..don't harm my son!!"  
  
The pathetic man could not say anymore. He broke down into violent sobs,  
mumbling broken sentences to the three guests. The President let the man  
weep for a full minute, then decided to "finish him off".  
  
"You're lucky your son put me in such a good mood, Hawking," he began  
amicably, "I was going to suck you dry then just kill your son after I was  
done."  
  
Mr. Hawking shot up his head in disbelief. It had never occurred to him  
this despicable man would have extorted him to that extent. He was  
speechless.  
  
"But, I'm afraid your son has entertained me too greatly for me to kill  
him," the President laughed. Suddenly, he cut himself short, and stared  
ominously down at Mr. Hawking, "Don't mess with me, old man, or next time  
you won't find me in such a good mood."  
  
The stunned Mr. Hawking shivered violently at the threatening tone. The  
President raised one brow as if to say "Understood?", then marched towards  
the oak doors, saying, "Expect a visit from my lawyers about all the paper  
work. Pleasure doing business with you, Sir. Toodles!"  
  
Davoren immediately opened the door for the victorious President, then  
followed him out of the study room. Without a word, Vincent dropped the  
half-dead child to the ground. He watched him totter away to his sobbing  
father, gasping and choking all the way. Mr. Hawking instantly embraced his  
precious son with all his might. He was completely broken.  
  
The child, who understood nothing, peeked over his father's shoulder to  
look at his tormentor. His small, round eyes gaped in wonder at Vincent's  
tall figure and cold.  
  
However, Vincent only thrust his gun into its holster as he marched out of  
the room. He did not bother looking back at the stunned, little child he  
would have killed.  
  
And his heart felt nothing.  
  
  
  
-End of Chp.19  
  
Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	17. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.20  
  
"Where to now, Sir?" Davoren asked after they had driven out of the  
Hawking Garden.  
  
"Hmm...lemme check..," President ShinRa replied, pulling out his small  
social calendar.  
  
The car zoomed across the lonely highway, flying past the dark trees which  
outlined both sides of the road. In the distance, the brilliant city of  
Midgar sprouted out of the black ground to illuminate the sky high above.  
Davoren diverted the car from the endless highway, and headed straight to  
the dazzling city ahead.  
  
President ShinRa lounged comfortably on the back seat of the car, flicking  
through his little book. His two Turks occupied the front. Davoren drove  
the car, while Vincent brooded out the window, his hand under his chin. He  
gazed absent-mindedly at the trees and occasional lamp-post whiz by his  
idle eyes.  
  
"Oh joy," the President grumbled sarcastically, "I have yet another dinner  
party with those boring Morgans. All they ever do is gab away about their  
holidays in Costa del Sol...as if I give a damn."  
  
Davoren glanced at the exasperated President through the front mirror,  
then steered the car into another black road. He silently headed directly  
to the Morgan's grand villa at the very end of Midgar. The black hills  
carelessly rolled past the car as it journeyed down the snake-like road.  
Vincent noticed a thick blanket of grey clouds crawl up the sky towards the  
tranquil moon. Rain loomed in the bleak horizon.  
  
Nobody spoke a word during the long trip, though sometimes the President  
hummed a familiar tune to break the silence. In truth, neither Turk felt  
very inclined to speak in the presence of President ShinRa, as though he  
evoked some repulsive feeling in their hearts.  
  
"Say, Vincent," the President addressed, breaking off in the middle of his  
song, "If I hadn't looked at you in time, would you have shot that child?"  
  
Vincent sat upright on hearing the simple question, his eyes glimpsing at  
Davoren for some reason. However, the man drove on without even taking his  
eyes off the road; the question did not seem to interest him at all.  
  
"Yes, Sir," Vincent replied indifferently, "If that were your order, then  
I would have obeyed it."  
  
"Even though you knew it was a little, innocent child?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"Yeah, I thought so too," agreed President ShinRa pensively, "You put that  
gun against his little head so easily; like you were combing your hair or  
putting on your coat. And when I saw your face, yup! I just knew you  
would shoot the kid."  
  
Vincent folded his arms very uncomfortably as the President's crude  
analysis continued. Davoren glanced askance at the morose Turk, but  
otherwise, kept his focus on the ever-winding road.  
  
"I like your style, Mr. Valentine," the President chuckled, examining his  
shimmering moonstone ring, "Strict obedience is a quality I definitely  
admire in a man. Davoren didn't exaggerate when he said you literally took  
an order without question."  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
"What about you, Davoren?" President ShinRa asked slyly. He shuffled his  
bulky body to the other end of the car so as to see the man, "What would  
YOU have done if I gave you that order?"  
  
Davoren silently turned the wheel of the car as though he had not heard  
the playful question; nor did the illustrious President ShinRa insist on an  
immediate reply. In fact, he seemed to have already guessed the answer.  
Vincent gazed outside the window again, relieved to be free at last.  
  
"I would have done exactly what Vincent did, Sir," Davoren answered  
finally, "I would have yanked up the child, and pressed my gun against his  
head, just like he did."  
  
"I believe you," the President laughed, studying the man's face from the  
side, "But would you have shot him? An honest answer now! I know you never  
lie, Davoren. Would you have actually shot the child?"  
  
He paused a moment before saying, "No, Sir. I would not have shot the  
child."  
  
"Even if I, your President and superior, ordered you to?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. Even then, I would not have shot the child."  
  
With a good-natured laugh, the President lit a cigar for himself and  
leaned back in his seat. He bore a striking resemblance to a pig with his  
ugly, bloated face and twinkling eyes. An insolent, broad grin contorted  
his lips as he puffed at his cigar. Davoren seemed to exert all his  
strength not to look at this repulsive man. His cool eyes were rigidly  
fixed on the road.  
  
"I knew you wouldn't," commented the President after a pause, "Which is  
exactly why I chose Vincent to manage the child. Sometimes, Davoren, I  
wonder how you can still be my most reliable Turk when you tell me bluntly  
that you won't obey my orders."  
  
"You misunderstand me, Sir," Davoren replied dryly but calmly, "I merely  
said I would not have shot the child."  
  
Vincent eyed Davoren very curiously, then glanced back at the fat  
President. He recalled Gerald and Cindy recounting the story about their  
leader insulting the President straight to his face. Davoren certainly  
sounded quite capable of repeating the incident, judging from his annoyed,  
restrained voice.  
  
"Oh, tut tut!" laughed the President, amused with the Turk's vexation, "I  
won't hold your honesty against you, Davoren. Why, you're the only man I'd  
trust my life with! C'mon, don't be angry."  
  
Davoren's hard eyes glanced at the President through the front mirror, but  
immediately shot back to the road ahead. He increased the speed of the car  
slightly.  
  
Probably to get rid of him sooner, Vincent mused, can't say I blame him.  
  
"One would think that because I threatened the child, Hawking crumbled  
down," President ShinRa stated after a pause, "but that's not true! You  
see, gentleman, Hawking's OWN folly brought him down."  
  
The two Turks exchanged a significant look, bracing themselves for the  
upcoming speech. Vincent kept his arms folded across his chest, while  
Davoren busied himself with the driving.  
  
"Hawking could have got away with destroying my Reactor if not for this  
one flaw: parental love," ShinRa coughed importantly, "Now, if he were  
smart, he would've let Vincent kill his son, and then he'd keep his  
company. What could I have done to him THEN? Nothing!"  
  
The President took a huge whiff at his cigar, excited by the prospect of  
honoring his two Turks with another speech. indeed, ShinRa was quite  
notorious for spouting out speeches on the spur of the moment.  
  
"But since the old geezer loved his son, it was easy to break his proud,  
scrawny spine. The minute I threatened his son, his parental love got in  
the way, and now he's lost everything...just for a little brat!"  
  
The joke was too delicious. His portly belly heaved as the President burst  
into coarse, loud laughter. he tried once or twice to continue, but  
everytime fell back to the same insolent laughter. Vincent rolled his eyes  
away in disgust. Davoren, however, seemed to bear the man's crudity better.  
  
"You can't blame it on love, Sir," Davoren commented composedly, "After  
all, parental affection is only part human nature."  
  
The President puffed out an impressive amount of smoke, then gazed  
thoughtfully outside the foggy window. His pudgy face had changed  
drastically from silly to serious, but his eyes still glittered with evil  
playfulness.  
  
"I have this theory, Davoren," he began again as he studied his dirty  
cigar, "See, life is simply a series of business transactions with variable  
profits. Even child conception is a business transaction, and the profit is  
product you get when the child grows up."  
  
Neither Turk cared to comment on the analogy.  
  
"Yes, children are the perfect investment, because you're creating a  
business partner for yourself. You can mould the child's personality to  
suit your own liking, and use him in your business. If you waste your time  
on 'parental affection', then you lose it all...just like Hawking did  
tonight."  
  
President ShinRa smiled smugly at his misconceived eloquence. Except for  
the monotonous humming of the zooming car, no one interrupted the silence.  
  
"Heh, but that's not how MY son is gonna be. No sir!" President ShinRa  
muttered through his big cigar, "We won't waste his time or mine on that  
sappy, sentimental nonsense of 'parental affection'. He's gonna be my  
business partner, molded by my two hands."  
  
"I wasn't aware you were planning on having a son, Sir?" remarked Davoren  
with a faint smile.  
  
"Huh! Of course I plan on having a son! You think I'd let the City Counsel  
and blood-thirsty tax-collectors gobble up my money after I die? Heh heh...  
what a shock they'll get when they see my son just like me..Hell, no! MUCH  
worse than me!"  
  
The ShinRa President exploded into another bout of laughter, then  
concluded amusedly, "Yes, much, much worse than me. So much that if some  
idiot holds a gun against my head and says 'do this and that, or I'll kill  
your daddy', my son would snap his fingers in the man's face and say 'Good  
riddance! Kill him, for all I care!'"  
  
Nobody answered him. Davoren turned the car around another obscure bend,  
and sped up the black hill. Vincent, with both arms still folded, cast his  
eyes down on his lap. A disgusting, sour feeling tickled his throat.  
  
"THAT is how the perfect father-son relationship should be," the President  
remarked knowledgeably, "100%, affection-free, business! What do you think,  
Vincent?"  
  
"I don't know, Sir," Vincent replied dryly, "I have no intentions of  
having any children, at least not in the near future."  
  
"Feh! If I had a fraction of your looks, buddy, I'd be making children  
left and right," ShinRa remarked under his breath, then laughed outloud,  
"Oh well! Live with what you got, I suppose..Ah! are we there already?"  
  
They had, indeed, finally reached the grand villa of the wealthy Morgans.  
Built about a century ago, this house spread itself all over the hill top,  
with three marvelous gables jutting out of the stone facade. White marble  
steps led up to the main entrance, where Mrs. Morgan was busy greeting the  
arriving guests.  
  
Davoren halted the car at the foot of the marble staircase. He shifted in  
his seat to alight the car, but President ShinRa stopped him with a wave of  
his hand.  
  
"Don't bother escorting me, Davoren," he laughed, reaching for the door  
handle, "I can walk myself up the stairs."  
  
President ShinRa stumbled out of the car just as Mrs. Morgan flew down the  
steps to greet her new visitor. They exchanged a friendly greeting, the  
President complimenting her exquisite pearl necklace. The kind,  
simple-minded woman offered some "tea and crumpets" for the two Turks, but  
they politely refused the generous offer; they had to report back to ShinRa  
headquarters.  
  
  
  
"Come back here at two in the morning," the President ordered Davoren  
before leaving the car, "That's as early as I can make it."  
  
"Yes, Sir. Enjoy the dinner."  
  
The two Turks watched the corpulent President waddle up the marble steps,  
with Mrs. Morgan chattering by his side. When ShinRa had finally  
disappeared into the grand villa, Davoren pressed his forehead against the  
car wheel. His whole countenance betrayed immense fatigue mixed with  
vexation.  
  
"You live in the ShinRa Apartment Complex, right?" he sighed without  
looking up.  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"I'll drive you there, then head back to head quarters. No point two of us  
waiting for him."  
  
Without another word, Davoren back tracked out of the gravel path, and  
fled through the bronze gates down the hill. Soon, the car was zooming on  
the main highway again, heading straight for Midgar. It began to rain.  
  
Neither Turk spoke for a long time. Davoren focused his full attention on  
the black, empty road. Vincent glimpsed at his leader once or twice, but  
gazed mostly out the misty window. His dull mind drifted from one trifling  
to another as grey shadows whizzed past the window. He felt very tired.  
  
"Tell me, Vincent," began Davoren, breaking the stuffy silence, "What do  
you think of the ShinRa President?"  
  
Vincent turned his head to Davoren suspiciously, then mumbled, "I don't  
know, Sir."  
  
"Oh, c'mon," he laughed weakly, "I can see the answer just looking at  
your eyes. Are you afraid I'd report you if you tell the truth?"  
  
Davoren smiled amicably at the Turk, trying to encourage him further.  
however, Vincent avoided his look by staring outside the foggy window  
again. He kept his keen eyes fixed outside even though the rain had  
obscured everything to blackness.  
  
"He's the most vulgar, crass, and disgusting ignoramus on earth, isn't  
he?" Davoren answered himself, "I pity his future son, whoever he'll be."  
  
Although Vincent could not agree more, he kept his face rigidly hidden  
from his leader; he still refused to comment. Davoren glanced at the frigid  
Turk very thoughtfully, then his attention returned to the road. Vincent  
carelessly watched the rain lash against the cold window. His idle finger  
began to doodle on the foggy glass, drawing squiggles or writing some  
abstract name. When he realized he had scribbled "JENOVA", he immediately  
swooped it away.  
  
The silence endured for five heavy minutes.  
  
"Vincent," Davoren began again, "Do you believe in God?"  
  
Vincent turned in amazement to the man, completely surprised by the  
unexpected question. Though Davoren hadn't lifted his eyes once off the wet  
road, his voice expressed deep solemnity; he actually expected an answer  
this time.  
  
Vincent thought a minute, then replied cautiously, "I suppose there is  
some kind of supreme being watching over everything."  
  
"You sound so exact."  
  
Davoren chuckled at the man's "exactness", but his grave expression soon  
returned.  
  
"Well, they tell us 'God is good'," Davoren resumed coolly, "or 'Yea, God  
doth saveth the down-trodden and punish the wicked'. Didn't they teach you  
that when you were a kid?"  
  
The Turk nodded his head slowly. He studied Davoren's face, running his  
curious eyes over every feature they came across.  
  
"If that's so, Vincent, why do you suppose God lets bastards like ShinRa  
live? He lets that man trample over everyone else just to fill his pockets  
with more money."  
  
"I suppose...because there's a Devil too," Vincent replied softly.  
  
"Hah! Good answer!"  
  
Another pause.  
  
"But not a devil with horns and a long, pointy tail," Davoren smiled  
bitterly, "This devil wears a blue suit and tie. It assumes the shape of  
normal men, yet threatens, kills, and of course gets away with it, just to  
make SURE ShinRa's pockets stay full."  
  
Saying that, Davoren turned his face to Vincent for a response. His knit  
brows and frown intensified the hateful gleam in his honey-colored eyes.  
Vincent only looked down again, hesitating to ask any questions.  
Nevertheless, he was extremely interested in what Davoren had to say.  
  
"And who suffer the most, do you think?" Davoren concluded in a low voice,  
"Why, people like those men we slaughtered in the Reactor. They suffer the  
most to satisfy ShinRa's greed."  
  
"Sir," Vincent interrupted all of a sudden. He fixed his quizzical eyes  
right on his face, "Those men were threatening to kill ShinRa employees.  
Are you saying we shouldn't have killed them?"  
  
Davoren's eyes narrowed in unmistakable scorn at the simple question. He  
immediately glanced askance at Vincent, then focused on the road again. Hot  
rage seemed to boil in his heart.  
  
"Those were also poor, illiterate men from the slums, Mr. Valentine," he  
replied with great restraint, "Hawking dazzled them with a couple of gils  
if they would pick up a gun and scare some employees. To be blunt, Hawking  
used them to fulfill his own means."  
  
His voice suddenly softened, but the hard, bitter tone still remained,  
"Yet ShinRa ordered us to massacre them as if they were professional,  
first-class terrorists. And what did we kill them for? To make ShinRa Inc.  
a monopoly...to make that fat toad of a ShinRa richer.."  
  
Davoren glanced again at Vincent, then concluded sadly, "That's how  
meaningless human life is to this money-grubbing company. One of the most  
sacred gifts from God, traded for hard, cold cash."  
  
Vincent looked at this bitter man, then turned away to wonder at the  
strange paradox: how could Davoren, the LEADER of the Turks, insult ShinRa  
Inc. at the same time? how could everyone, even President ShinRa himself,  
value this man who made no secret of his hate for ShinRa Inc.?  
  
Another awkward silence sprung up between the two Turks, neither man  
caring to speak anymore. The torrential rain continued to pour down as the  
car raced down the deserted highway. They were already approaching the  
check-point at the large iron gates of Midgar.  
  
Davoren stopped the car when a heavily-clad soldier signaled for him to  
halt. He gruffly demanded some ID, but on recognizing Davoren, immediately  
allowed them to pass in a most respectful manner.  
  
The car whizzed up the road, cutting through the pouring rain like a  
bullet. Huge, grim buildings flew past the speedy car, accompanied by  
dazzling neon lights and colorful posters. Unfortunately, the rain fell so  
persistently, Vincent could only see pink blurs of light flash past his  
face.  
  
He stole a curious glance at Davoren, as if he could guess an answer from  
his face. The brilliant neon lights lit up the man's handsome face,  
streaking it with hues of pink or yellow. His features seemed sharper, yet  
his eyes stared absent-mindedly through the wet front window. He looked so  
sad.  
  
"Can I ask you a personal question..Davoren?" Vincent began cautiously, He  
had never addressed his leader by his first name before.  
  
Davoren looked indifferently at the Turk, muttering, "Go ahead."  
  
"If you hate ShinRa Inc. so much, why did you become a Turk?"  
  
"Money," smiled Davoren mysteriously, "I joined for the money."  
  
"Pardon me for saying this, but you don't look or sound the type who'd.."  
  
"Oh, no! The money wasn't for me! I could've been a street-sweeper, for  
all I cared. No, the money was for my brother."  
  
Vincent started in alarm at the surprising reason. He instantly recalled  
the long, painful story about Davoren's brother and how he had fought with  
the President over his search. He fidgeted nervously in his seat, trying  
to avoid the man's eyes. His cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment for  
starting the conversation.  
  
"It's alright," Davoren smiled calmly, "Gerald and Cindy have already told  
you all about my brother, judging from your reaction. But it's true. The  
money was to put me brother through college."  
  
Vincent turned his eyes back to Davoren, trying to guess his meaning.  
Though Vincent did not encourage his leader any further, Davoren decided to  
continue all the same. His spirits seemed to lighten as he spoke about his  
missing brother.  
  
"See, we were extremely poor at the time, and I had to take care of him  
ever since he was ten years old. I think I joined ShinRa Inc. as some clerk  
or another, which was fine until I found out he wanted to go to college."  
  
Davoren steered the car around a curb, then went on as friendly as before,  
"Now, the pay wasn't THAT great, so I had to figure out how to help  
him..'education is everything', as the saying goes. And since I wasn't  
smart enough to be a scientist, or strong enough to be in SOLDIER, I became  
a Turk."  
  
He looked proudly at Vincent.  
  
"Mind you, I worked my butt off all the time, but so what? Every gil I  
made went to my brother until he graduated...full honors too! And by the  
time he became a Turk, I was already leader of the Turks. Heh heh..I sound  
more like a father the way I'm going on..."  
  
Vincent beheld this man in strange wonder. Perhaps now he understood  
better why everyone respected Davoren so much, even the cold-hearted ShinRa  
President. In truth, Vincent had never seen such a sacrificing nature as  
Davoren's.  
  
But then he remembered... Davoren's brother was dead.  
  
"I..I'm sorry," Vincent apologized confusedly, "I wouldn't have asked you  
if I had known your brother was involved..."  
  
"Hey. Don't worry about it."  
  
Neither man spoke another word until they finally reached the large  
apartment complex. The car slowly rolled across the parking lot, then  
halted at the main entrance.  
  
"Well, here you go," smiled Davoren amicably.  
  
After mumbling some thanks, Vincent fumbled at the door to step out. But  
on opening the door, Davoren stopped him by gently gripping his shoulder.  
  
"Tell me honestly," he begged with stern eyes, "Would you have really  
killed that child?"  
  
Vincent paused before muttering dryly, "Yes, Sir."  
  
"Even if you knew he was innocent, and his only crime was being Hawking's  
son?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," Vincent insisted, looking very cold, "When I am given an  
order, I obey it. I do not judge the moral nature of the order. My position  
only requires that I fulfill the wishes of my superiors without question."  
  
The two stared intently at each other, Vincent feeling more and more  
uncomfortable with Davoren's scrutinizing eyes. Only the sound of rain  
lashing against the car top disturbed the stillness. Suddenly, a most  
fatherly, kind smile stretched across Davoren's face.  
  
"Yes, you're an excellent Turk already, I can see," he chuckled quietly,  
"I just pity the child you nearly killed. He'll be having nightmares about  
you for a long time."  
  
Vincent blinked surprisedly at the strange comment, then stepped out of  
the car. He watched it roll away quietly, until finally turn around an  
obscure curb, and disappear in the rain.  
  
All of a sudden, he remembered he had to return Lucrecia's papers  
tomorrow morning.  
  
  
End of Chp.20

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	18. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.21  
  
"Ooohh boy..," sighed Vincent.  
  
The elevator halted abruptly, then chimed as its metallic doors withdrew  
on the 68th floor. He had reached famous ShinRa Laboratory. Vincent  
stepped out very cautiously, like a cat unfamiliar with new territory. He  
found himself, much to his confusion, drifting down a winding corridor in  
search of some reception hall. A scientist pushing a cart of test tubes  
nearly rammed into him, yet sped away as if not seeing him.  
  
His feet wandered down the corridor until finally he discovered the wanted  
reception hall. Several desks cluttered this vast room, with all sorts of  
scientists bustling about in a hurry. Some bent over microscopes; others  
raced around collecting or delivering papers, while the rest wrote  
furiously about their observations. Nobody paid any attention to the lost  
Turk.  
  
Looks like a flea-market in here, Vincent reflected scornfully.  
  
After great effort and amazing patience, Vincent finally induced one of  
the busy scientists to spare one minute of his precious time. He asked  
politely for "Ms. Lucrecia", and was informed he could find her in the  
Specimen Observatory further down the hall.  
  
"Now go away! Shoo!" the huffy scientist dismissed.  
  
So Vincent trotted down the hall, looking all around himself in wonder.  
Two women scientists who were chattering away stopped as he passed them,  
and followed him with their curious eyes. He obviously did not belong here.  
  
Vincent turned around the endless corridor, when coming face to face with  
two large, glazed doors. A plain sign reading "ShinRa Specimen Observatory"  
had been neatly inscribed on top.  
  
His searching eyes scanned the interior through the glass, hoping to find  
Lucrecia without actually venturing inside. Unfortunately, she was no where  
to be seen. Taking a deep breath, Vincent pushed his way into the ominous  
observatory.  
  
It was a small, square room squeezed into one corner of the storey. Two  
large specimen tables with over-hanging neon lights occupied the centre.  
Endless rows of towering bookshelves ran all along the walls, crammed with  
files, journals, and books. There were two elderly scientists mumbling  
between themselves over a specimen, but stopped short on spotting the  
intruder.  
  
"My word!" exclaimed one of them to his colleague, "What's that Turk doing  
here??"  
  
Vincent nodded his head respectfully at the two, then wandered between the  
rows of bookshelves in search of Lucrecia. He checked one row after  
another, losing hope with every passing bookshelf. Until finally, he found  
her. She was standing on a step-up ladder next to a shelf, completely  
engrossed in reading a large file.  
  
All her soft hair had been heaped into a charming, loose ponytail behind  
her delicate neck. She wore no lab coat this time, thereby showing the  
slimness of her body, especially her supple waist. Her shining eyes  
devoured the pages of the file. She didn't even hear Vincent walk up to  
her.  
  
He forced out a cough, which immediately grabbed her attention. The minute  
she noticed Vincent near her, Lucrecia stared blankly at his face,  
obviously shocked to find him here. Her nervous hands slammed the file  
shut, then hugged it against her chest. The two were silent for a minute.  
  
"M..Mr. Valentine..," she faltered at last.  
  
"..uh..Ms. Lucrecia," he interrupted, more nervous than her, "..forgive  
me..but, last night when you..uh...ran off, you dropped this..,"  
  
He fumbled at his breast pocket as Lucrecia hopped down from the ladder to  
face him properly. He handed the two folded papers over to her, unable to  
speak anymore. Lucrecia examined the papers after unfolding them, then shot  
her eyes up to him in alarm.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized softly, "I accidentally stepped on the sketch  
and ruined it. Now it looks like an ugly woman with a turban."  
  
He had, of course, braced himself for her worst reaction, maybe even  
another slap on the face. Lucrecia stared at him as he finished, then  
suddenly burst out laughing.  
  
"But that's what it's supposed to be," she explained, "It is an ugly  
woman with a turban!"  
  
When he finally understood her, Vincent mumbled, "Oh..sorry..."  
  
She looked up at him through her smart glasses, still retaining her kind  
smile. Vincent fidgeted anxiously as a heavy silence weighed him down; he  
felt he should say more to her. Unfortunately, his mind had blanked out the  
minute he had opened his mouth.  
  
So, his mission now completed, Vincent decided to leave.  
  
"I apologize for bothering you, Ms. Lucrecia," he muttered, turning away  
from her awkwardly, "Good day."  
  
"Wait!!!"  
  
Lucrecia instantly covered her mouth in embarrassment for being so loud,  
but stepped infront of Vincent to block his way. After propping her  
cumbersome file on one of the shelves, she looked up at him so as to say  
something. However, everytime the poor woman tried to begin a sentence, her  
tongue stumbled over the words nervously. Finally, she broke down in  
annoyance.  
  
"Listen," she sighed in defeat. She pulled off her glasses and looked  
straight into his eyes, "I've been meaning to apologize for...for what I  
did..the other day in the Reactor. That was NO way to show gratitude for  
saving my life."  
  
Vincent did not answer.  
  
"And I'm most, most ashamed that I slapped you, Mr. Valentine," Lucrecia  
said with flushed cheeks, "I hope I didn't hurt you?"  
  
"Oh no, not at all," he automatically lied. Vincent thought a minute, then  
added, "Truth is, Ms. Lucrecia, I can't blame you for getting angry with  
me. But it's not like I could've warned you beforehand that I was going to  
shoot..uh..see,I..."  
  
Words failed him again. Vincent ran his fingers through his black hair,  
berating himself for speaking so inconsiderately to her. Luckily, Lucrecia  
wasn't offended at all. In fact, she smiled more kindly than before.  
  
"I understand," she replied, extending her hand, "And please, just call me  
Lucrecia...er..sorry, I only caught your last name back there..,"  
  
"Oh, my name's Vincent," he said as he shook her hand firmly.  
  
"I tried finding you out so I could apologize..but I must confess,  
Vincent, I got too embarrassed to actually walk up to you. I'm very sorry  
for being such an ungrateful.."  
  
"Hey, it's alright. What matters is we're both alive and well."  
  
Lucrecia silently nodded her head in agreement. Her bashful eyes turned  
away from him, seeming to hesitate about some important matter. Vincent, on  
the other hand, had nothing more to say. He looked around himself once or  
twice, then finally broke the silence.  
  
"Well, I shouldn't keep you from your work any longer, Lucrecia. Good  
bye."  
  
With a most respectful bow, Vincent brushed past her towards the exit.  
Lucrecia apprehensively watched him walk away until she finally called him  
again. Vincent turned around in confusion as she trotted up to him. Her  
beautiful face expressed intense nervousness.  
  
"Um...Vincent," she faltered in a low voice, "I'm having my coffee break  
now. Would you..would you care to join me?"  
  
Vincent blinked in more confusion at the kind invitation, yet made no  
reply.  
  
"Unless of course, you're busy!" she argued, waving her two hands infront  
of her, "I don't want to drag you with me if you don't.."  
  
"Oh, no. I..I'd love to join you."  
  
The two new friends spent a full hour in the ShinRa cafe, chatting  
casually about themselves. Vincent dodged all personal questions aimed at  
himself; he was, by nature, fiercely private, and preferred not to "blurt  
it all out", even to someone as friendly as Lucrecia. Nor did Lucrecia  
dream of intruding. When she had noticed Vincent's reluctance to answer any  
personal questions, she cleverly steered away from the subject.  
  
Instead, she began to timidly speak a bit about herself. Occasionally, she  
hesitated, not wanting to bore Vincent with those frivolities, but he  
always urged her to continue. Indeed, his eyes lit up with great interest  
as she spoke.  
  
He found her overly modest about her position, and quite respectful to all  
her colleagues (especially her superiors). Nevertheless, Vincent could see  
in her a rare insight and intelligence which most her esteemed colleagues  
dismally lacked (males included). And her shy, humble nature only added to  
her charm.  
  
Lucrecia finally explained that after graduating from Junon City  
University, she had applied to ShinRa. Inc in order to finish her  
postgraduate work. Luckily, Professor Gast had accepted her as a  
lab-assistant, and she had entered the company about a year ago.  
  
"So, you're doing research now, are you?" Vincent asked, eyeing her  
curiously over a cup of coffee.  
  
"Y..yes," she stammered in a low voice, "To be a full-time scientist, I  
need to present a research paper to the Midgar Institute of Biological  
Engineering. Professor Gast has been quite kind and patient with me. He  
even helps with my research paper sometimes."  
  
Vincent did not interrupt her, but stared very keenly at her nervous face.  
  
"I need to thank you again, Vincent," she said as she looked at him  
directly, "Those two papers you returned to me were notes for my research  
paper...I spent three days non-stop just trying to gather them."  
  
"This research paper of yours must be hard work. What's it about?"  
  
Lucrecia fidgeted in her seat, unsure whether he would understand all the  
technicalities, but he gently encouraged her to tell him. She yielded.  
  
"Actually, I'm working with a team of scientists on this new project  
called the 'JENOVA Project'. It's hard work, naturally, but very exciting!  
Especially working with all these famous scientists."  
  
Vincent immediately recalled that strange name scribbled over her sketch.  
He had thought "Jenova" was some woman's name.  
  
"No, no," Lucrecia laughed, "JENOVA is a project funded by ShinRa Inc.  
It's a living entity we named after Professor Gast's dead wife."  
  
Vincent did not understand.  
  
"Okay, look," she explained, dragging her chair closer to him, "A year  
ago, Professor Gast and his research team picked up strange signals during  
an archeological dig in the North. According to the readings they got, some  
life form was buried under the rocks. When they excavated the site, they  
found this..this living organism frozen in the snow."  
  
"'A living organism frozen in the snow'?" he repeated, puzzled by her  
meaning, "How could it survive such harsh climate?"  
  
"That was the mystery! Primary analysis indicated this creature was  
thousands of years old, yet still alive. It had different molecular and  
cellular structure unlike anything else. It was, to be simple, an alien  
life form."  
  
"'An alien life form', eh?" he wondered. He suddenly remembered something,  
"Say, is JENOVA that same discovery Professor Gast made some months ago? He  
wrote in one of his journals that when he exposed living human tissue to  
the cells of that..er...'life form', it altered the human tissue without  
changing itself."  
  
Lucrecia gaped in surprise as he finished, then exclaimed, "How..how did  
you know that???"  
  
"Oh..uh..," he faltered confusedly, "I..happened to read one of his  
reports a couple of months ago. I...sorta..like reading about those kinds  
of things..."  
  
The conversation inevitably turned to science. Vincent explained that he  
spent most his free time in the library, reading anything he came across.  
Lucrecia was fascinated to know he had read several publications on "that  
alien life form", even though parts had been "too scientific" for him to  
fully understand. Nevertheless, he had thought the discovery quite  
intriguing, especially the part about tissue exposure.  
  
"Of course, YOU know much more about this," Vincent smiled amicably,  
"Whatever I understood from it, I thought interesting. It must be great  
doing actual research on such a fascinating discovery."  
  
"Y'know, you're amazing," Lucrecia blurted out, staring right into his  
face with a smile, "I mean, here I am, chatting with you, a Turk, about the  
project, when some scientists in the lab haven't even read one report! Are  
you sure you're a Turk and not a scientist in disguise?"  
  
Vincent assured her he had "no head for science", but merely enjoyed  
reading about it. They chatted some more about the discovery and the lab,  
until Lucrecia stopped short.  
  
"Oh..oh my God!" she muttered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.  
  
"What?"  
  
She sprang to her feet instantly, then pulled him up by the arm, crying  
excitedly, "C'mon! I want to show you something! C'mon!"  
  
She pulled him out of the cafe, her heart fluttering with excitement.  
  
Vincent let himself be led along endless corridors and up the staircase.  
He wondered what "something" Lucrecia was so eager to show him, yet did not  
ask any questions. She took him through a metallic doorway down the hall,  
into a small, dim room. Before he realized where he was, Vincent found  
himself infront of a preservatory tank.  
  
This huge, round tank dominated at least two-thirds of the room, with  
three stiff pipes boring straight into its top. Countless buttons, levers,  
and rubber tubes adorned its bulky structure. One square window marked the  
centre of this impressive tank. A dazzling purple light illuminated from  
the inside of this impressive tank, yet the fog on the window obscured the  
interior.  
  
Lucrecia dragged Vincent infront of the square window. Wiping the mist off  
the glass with her sleeve, she beckoned for him to come closer.  
  
"Go on," she encouraged in a whisper, "Look inside."  
  
Vincent glanced suspiciously at her excited face, then peered through the  
glass. His eyes widened in shock: it was that "ugly woman with the turban".  
  
"That's JENOVA, the alien life form," she whispered, still excited.  
  
JENOVA looked like the bust of a woman wearing a draped headdress. Her  
round, waxen face and empty eye sockets aroused strange disgust in Vincent,  
intensified by those awkward tubings protruding under her grey body. One of  
her breasts bore a circular, dark blue marking, while her body hung over a  
thick rope of wires. Two heavy wings sprouted out of her back, filling the  
entire tank. Vincent had never seen such a hideous creature.  
  
He turned back to Lucrecia.  
  
"They actually brought JENOVA to Midgar two months ago," she explained,  
"We haven't stopped analyzing her ever since she came."  
  
"She's hideous," Vincent commented when his voice returned.

"Heh heh..yeah, I thought so too," she smiled happily, "But if you look at  
her everyday like I do, you get used to it."  
  
Vincent wanted to ask her something, when suddenly a raging voice shouting  
"LUCRECIA!!" startled the two from behind. The poor woman immediately  
turned around in alarm.  
  
"Oh!!" she exclaimed nervously, "..P..Professor Hojo!!"  
  
Professor Hojo, a bony young man in a loose lab coat, stormed from the  
doorway up to the two intruders. His lean, drawn face expressed immense  
fury, further emphasized by his incredibly high forehead. All his black,  
sleek hair had been pulled back into a tiny ponytail, yet three strands  
dangled infront of his rat-like face. He wore a pair of black glasses over  
his long nose.  
  
The man brushed past Vincent most rudely, and stood directly infront of  
the trembling Lucrecia.  
  
"I..I'm very sorry, Professor Hojo," the poor woman apologized humbly, "I  
was only..."  
  
Hojo folded his thin arms across his chest, loudly berating Lucrecia for  
"trespassing into the preservatory". Lucrecia apologized meekly for every  
rebuke she received. She hung her head as Hojo shook his long finger in her  
face to scold her "stupidity and carelessness".  
  
Vincent, thinking this insolent man had gone too far, decided to  
interfere.  
  
"It was my fault, Sir," Vincent interrupted him in the middle of the  
reproof, "I asked her to show me the preservatory tank."  
  
Lucrecia looked at him in alarm on hearing the lie. Hojo, who hadn't  
noticed Vincent up to now, looked up and down at his tall figure, then  
turned to face him. He twisted his thin lips into a scornful grimace, his  
arms still folded. Vincent kept his clenched fists down by his side, and  
stared challengingly back at the Professor.  
  
"You're a Turk, eh?" Hojo asked. His mocking eyes scanned Vincent again.  
  
"Yes, Sir. I am," he replied sternly, as if to actually say, "you got a  
problem with that?"  
  
"State your business, then. What, pray tell, do want with a preservatory  
tank?"  
  
The question was perfectly legitimate. Vincent fumbled for a reasonable  
excuse, yet failed to find any. Hojo tapped his arm in certain impatience;  
he obviously didn't find this Turk's presence very pleasant. Fortunately,  
Lucrecia intervened in time.  
  
"He..he's a friend of mine, Professor," she explained hurriedly, "I just  
wanted to show him the preservatory tank before.."  
  
"This isn't a public house for idle chit-chat, woman!!!" Hojo thundered,  
stamping his foot angrily, "You take your friend out of here this instant  
and report back here!! We still haven't finished all the tests!!"  
  
"Ah..y..yes..Professor. Right away!"  
  
Before Vincent knew it, Lucrecia dragged him out the preservatory room and  
down the corridor. He glanced behind just as they turned around a corner:  
no mistake; he had distinctly seen glaring straight back at him.  
  
"Who was that?" he asked as they descended the staircase towards the  
elevators.  
  
"That was...Professor Hojo," she explained in embarrassment, "He's a  
scientist on the 'JENOVA Project' too...one of the leading ones, in fact."  
  
"He has no right to yell at you like that."  
  
"Actually, he does. It was my fault. I..I forgot he had ordered all  
un-authorized personnel off the tank premises."  
  
"And I still say he was rude."  
  
"Well, Professor Hojo can be a hot-head sometimes," she smiled, trying to  
soothe his anger, "Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way."  
  
"Oh..uh..no problem."  
  
Neither spoke another word until they reached the elevators. Vincent  
reluctantly pressed the button, then turned to face Lucrecia again. She  
fidgeted a bit, still embarrassed with the last scene, but finally managed  
to look up at him.  
  
"Anyway, Vincent," she concluded by extending her hand to him, "I  
apologize again for the other day, and thank you so much for retuning my  
two papers. They're very important to me."  
  
He shook her hand again, but this time kept a hold on it.  
  
"Lucrecia," he asked in a low voice, "Can I see you again?"  
  
She started at the question, then faltered slowly, "Of  
course..V..Vincent..if you want to.."  
  
"How about tomorrow?"  
  
"I'm sorry..I can't. I have to work with Professor Hojo all day tomorrow  
in the lab."  
  
"Then the day after?"  
  
"You're very persistent, aren't you," she smiled bashfully, "Okay, I'll be  
free in the afternoon."  
  
Vincent, quite pleased with another chance at meeting her, boarded the  
elevator when it arrived at last. He turned around to bid her a final  
farewell.  
  
"Say, Vincent?" Lucrecia called before the doors shut.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I..I'm very happy we're friends now."  
  
He only managed to smile back at her. The elevator doors quickly closed on  
him again.  
  
  
End of Chp.21

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	19. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields 22

  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.22  
  
The months rolled by very gently.

A windy autumn gradually replaced the hot summer, banishing it from the  
city until next year. What trees the grim Midgar still possessed soon lost  
their precious leaves in the wind, and stood as barren as ever in the smog.  
The cool, chilly wind constantly huffed over the city, yet failed to fully  
remove the stuffy heat trapped within.

  
Despite the seasonal changes in Midgar, scarcely anything changed amongst  
the Turks. Vincent still kept a cool "friendship" with his colleagues;  
close enough to exceed an acquaintance, yet not intimate enough for a  
personal friendship. In all fairness, they were fiercely loyal and  
co-operative, yet Vincent never felt very attached to them, even after many  
more months of work in ShinRa Inc.  
  
Cindy, though intelligent in her own cunning way, obviously preferred  
Gerald to Vincent's company. And Gerald, being an established anti-reader,  
favored more rowdy modes of entertainment which did not appeal to the  
Turk's taste (like fast cars, snooker, bars, and rugby matches).  
  
Not surprisingly, Davoren became his closest Turk friend. The beloved  
leader of the Turks, while always modest and easy-going, also possessed a  
serious, almost depressed, nature as well. He sometimes advised ways for  
Vincent to improve his gun skills even further, which the latter heartily  
thanked. However, Vincent enjoyed Davoren's perceptive (and cutting)  
"observations" about ShinRa Inc., especially on an intellectual level. And  
the more Vincent listened to him, the more he respected and valued this  
man's friendship.  
  
He only met Professor Hojo occasionally whenever he happened to be near  
the ShinRa laboratory. The insolent man would snub him with a loud  
"harrumph", then brush past him as sullenly as before. Vincent, of course,  
never wasted his time on Hojo, thinking him simply "an arrogant, skinny  
grouch".  
  
Vincent was slightly surprised to find his opinion widely shared. Once,  
Gerald and he happened to spot Professor Hojo trotting some distance away,  
his two scrawny arms behind his bending back.  
  
"Fuh! Watch it, lad," Gerald had warned scornfully, "There goes the  
sorriest bit a' milksop ye'll ever see, ye will!"  
  
The secretaries always grimaced behind Hojo's back as he walked away;  
other employees, normally talkative, would pause whenever he passed by.  
Even the ShinRa President seemed to hold this scrawny man in contempt; not  
as blunt as his employees, of course, but equally as hateful. Indeed,  
nobody liked this spiteful scientist, nor did he make himself very  
agreeable to others.  
  
"But what can you do?" Lucrecia had sighed as she tried to explain to  
Vincent, "He's still part of the 'JENOVA Project' team...like him or not."  
  
As the months carelessly slipped by, Vincent and Lucrecia grew more  
intimate with each other. Whenever time permitted, the two friends would  
meet in the cafe or library. Vincent still avoided discussing any of his  
missions for fear of upsetting her (they usually involved some form of  
violence). Instead, he encouraged her to speak about her research or any  
other recent issue. He never grew tired listening to her talk excitedly  
about the "JENOVA Project". Nor did her unselfish dedication and patience  
ever cease to amaze him. Indeed, he found her company far superior to any  
other.  
  
Whenever she smiled, Vincent felt her warm his heart to the very core. If  
she spoke, he listened with all attention riveted on her alone. In his  
eyes, every word, every move, every look of hers was a stroke of wonder.  
  
Not that he lacked any control over his emotions. On the contrary, Vincent  
performed all his duties and missions as impeccably as before. In fact, the  
President had been so impressed with this Turk's obedience and perfection,  
he bestowed on him a most generous raise. Vincent's face always assumed a  
hard, cold expression during working hours. Even Lucrecia had once declared  
how unfriendly his face could look at times.  
  
"You should smile more, Vincent," she had insisted, "After all, you're  
smart...well-off...not to mention very handsome..," but she instantly  
blushed for some reason, then changed the subject.  
  
He only felt those strange emotions when she was near him.  
  
Unfortunately, Lucrecia grew increasingly absorbed in the "JENOVA Project"  
as time passed by. She would spend days on end, scribbling in her notebook  
under a bright lamp. She constantly ran between the preservatory room and  
the laboratory with all sorts of files in her delicate arms. Yet despite  
all the hard work, nothing could dampen her spirits or enthusiasm about the  
project. She had, in short, sacrificed all her time and energy for the  
"JENOVA Project". Much to her relief, Vincent never pressured her into  
meeting him. He only asked she "take it easy".  
  
The two friends saw less of each other, Lucrecia too engrossed in her  
research, and Vincent swamped in missions requiring his "special touch". A  
week flew by unnoticed, neither person having the time to even think of the  
other.  
  
One evening, Vincent chanced upon Lucrecia rushing through the hall with  
some papers heaped in her hands. On hearing her name called, she noticed  
him, and they chatted for a few minutes about trivial matters. Luckily,  
Lucrecia had just completed her lab work for the day. That task done, she  
was tidying up before heading home. Vincent, being done too, asked to  
accompany her some of the way. She gratefully accepted.  
  
The streets of Midgar had emptied considerably after the warm sun had  
descended the sky. A chilly autumn breeze blew over the gloomy city,  
swirling bits of papers and dead leaves on the pavement. Night enshrouded  
the sky with a black, starry blanket, thereby forcing a stillness on the  
usually bustling city. Though occasionally a stray car zoomed through the  
quiet streets or a lonely passerby skipped across the road, the streets  
remained almost deserted.  
  
The two strolled casually down the tranquil streets, talking in a very  
subdued voice. However, they too grew silent as they crossed the bridge  
towards the city centre. Vincent, with his hands thrust in his pockets,  
occasionally glanced at Lucrecia, but returned to his own thoughts again.  
It was very quiet in the city.  
  
"Do you always carry that gun with you, Vincent?" she asked all of a  
sudden. Her eyes looked up at him with slight apprehension.  
  
"Hm? Yeah..it's an old habit," Vincent sighed knowledgeably, "But it's  
more comfortable than the AK. 47 semi-automatic rifle I hide on my leg."  
  
Lucrecia stopped short on hearing the comment. She gaped straight at him  
with a most horrified look on her face. Vincent, on the other hand, smiled  
at her shocked expression, then decided to calm her down.  
  
"That was a joke," he explained.  
  
She blinked in surprise, only muttering a faint, "Oh!"  
  
They resumed their journey along the road, Lucrecia still trying to find  
the humor in his "joke"; she thought it perhaps too "Turkish" for her to  
grasp. Vincent walked by her side as quietly as before. The two followed  
the winding path around a corner, through a black alley, until finally  
emerging into the city's main square.  
  
The city square was merely the banking section of Midgar, named so because  
of the ugly stone fountain marking its centre. A high, broad parapet  
surrounded the fountain, whose centre basically consisted of three tiers  
piled over each other. Yet despite its grotesqueness, this unfortunate  
fountain retained a certain charm, if not a strange beauty, about it: the  
pure, shimmering water covered the dull tiers with a thin sheet of silver  
as it streamed downwards. The moon's reflection in the water constantly  
danced, caused by the gentle ripples of the clean water.  
  
The two lingered a moment near the fountain, neither wishing to disturb  
the pleasant sound of the water gently splashing into the fountain.  
  
Lucrecia suddenly took Vincent by the arm and pulled him over to the  
fountain for a closer look. After placing her briefcase on the ground, she  
gracefully perched herself on top of the stone parapet. Vincent watched her  
sit with her back facing the fountain, letting her two feet dangle  
playfully downwards. He then leaned against the parapet, and gazed silently  
at the silver water dance in the fountain.  
  
A peaceful silence fell on the two for a few minutes.  
  
"Say, Vincent," she asked in a most soft voice, "When did you first become  
interested in guns?"  
  
He glanced at her briefly, then replied, "When I came to live with my  
uncle in Midgar, he happened to be some famous gunsmith. He always used to  
tell me I had potential to be a gunsmith like him...so I think when I  
turned twelve, he taught me how to handle a gun. And by then next year, he  
let me practice with real bullets."  
  
"What did your parents think?? Weren't they afraid you'd hurt yourself?"  
  
"I doubt it. My mother had died when I was three...and my father..he  
committed suicide a few years later...from grief, I was told. So, I went to  
live with my uncle in Midgar after that."  
  
Lucrecia paused a long time before timidly reaching for his hand. Vincent  
felt a strange thrill at her warm, soft touch, yet refused to look at her  
anxious face. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the shimmering water.  
  
"I..I'm very sorry..," she whispered as she pressed his hand gently.  
  
"It's alright," he smiled without turning to her, "I don't remember them,  
really... just this fuzzy blur in my memory."  
  
Another prolonged silence fell on the two again. Leaning his body further  
against the parapet, Vincent ran his cold fingertips through the soothing  
water of the fountain. Lucrecia watched him for a while until she suddenly  
hopped off the stone parapet. She leaned next to Vincent, and gazed  
dreamily at the silver water shimmer in the moonlight. Vincent studied her  
face from the corner of his eye: he had never seen her look so beautiful as  
she did that moment.  
  
"So, you've been practicing with that gun for a long time now," she  
marveled, turning her head to him, "I bet you couldn't wait to become a  
Turk when you were a kid."  
  
Vincent pulled his wet hand out of the cool water, his eyes still  
lingering over her lovely face in complete fascination.  
  
"Actually, I didn't care what I became," he corrected good-humouredly, "My  
uncle at first wanted me to take over his gunsmith business, but then  
thought I could do better than that. He happened to know all the right  
people in ShinRa Inc., so..I became a Turk."  
  
Lucrecia looked quizzically into his face, as if doubting the whole truth  
of his simple story. Her disappointed look amused Vincent greatly.  
  
"Well, I never claimed to be a very ambitious man," he could not help  
adding with a smile, "To me, one job's as good as any other. That's why I  
admire you so much, Lucrecia: you know exactly what you want, and won't let  
anything stop you."  
  
Lucrecia started on hearing his generous compliment, then blushed slightly  
as her eyes returned to the clear water. Vincent turned around so that his  
back now leaned against the parapet. Try as he may, he could not tear his  
eyes away from Lucrecia, who fidgeted bashfully by his side.  
  
"To tell the truth, Vincent," she giggled softly, taking off her glasses,  
"I didn't know what I wanted to be either...not until I was seventeen.."  
  
He looked significantly at her, studying every feature of her lovely face  
as she continued, "One morning, my father and I were walking in the woods  
near our house. He made me look all around myself, and I always remember  
him saying 'Everyone here is running around, looking for miracles on earth;  
but they can't see the biggest miracle of all, even though it's right  
infront of them: the miracle of life'. And I thought that was so  
wonderful..I..I simply wanted to know what exactly gave things 'life'...heh  
heh...so, here I am now."  
  
Vincent only smiled at her, yet said nothing.  
  
"That's why this project means so much to me," Lucrecia explained with  
shining eyes, "Even though JENOVA is a completely different lifeform..it  
too possesses life. And if we can unlock some of its secrets, then  
maybe...just maybe, we can unlock some of the secrets to human life too."  
  
She glanced timidly at Vincent when she finished, and found his bright  
eyes riveted on her face. The two stared fixedly at each other, until  
Vincent suddenly broke the silence.  
  
"Lucrecia," he asked very softly, "Do you know that you're....beautiful?"  
  
The woman blinked in complete surprise at him. her cheeks flushed heavily  
as she looked down in shame, as though he had scolded her for some mistake.  
She even retreated one step away from him.  
  
"But, I don't mean JUST physical beauty," he explained hurriedly, "I won't  
lie to you: you are that most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But, Lucrecia,  
that's not the only thing I love in you..I think you're beauty springs from  
the inside too."  
  
Lucrecia looked curiously up at him again, but did not open her mouth. She  
still appeared overwhelmed with her emotions.  
  
"I mean, you're very noble-minded," he continued as he stepped closer to  
her, "And I can't help but marvel at how hard-working, intelligent, and  
principled you are. You're far more superior to any other person I've met.  
Sometimes, I wonder why I'm the only one who sees all this. I..I'm not  
trying to run any corny lines to you, Lucrecia..I'm just saying how I feel  
about you."  
  
An awkward silence followed.  
  
She hesitated several times, dismally trying to avoid his eyes, until  
finally faltered very softly, "Th...thank you..Vincent...I..you're very  
kind.."  
  
Lucrecia looked around herself in apprehension, then resumed more  
confidently, "When..when other men walk up to me..I never bother even  
listening to them..because I can tell how crude their minds really are..."  
  
When she noticed Vincent standing exactly infront of her, eyeing her very  
keenly, she dropped her voice even further, "But...that's not how I feel  
about you..no, not at all...you're so different from the others..."  
  
She broke down in the middle of her sentence, letting silence reclaim its  
lost place again. She only managed to look up at his face, her mind waiting  
for a response.  
  
Her beauty was, simply put, stunning.  
  
Vincent gently placed both hands on her soft cheeks, and stooped slightly  
to kiss her. He could feel her whole body tremble as he pressed his lips  
against her mouth, almost as though she were afraid of someone catching  
them. However, some of her tenseness quickly dispersed when he began to  
caress her cheeks and run his fingers along her slender waist; she even  
ventured to touch his cheeks most tenderly and return his kisses. Yet her  
body continuously quivered with some suppressed emotion.  
  
Suddenly, Lucrecia forcefully shoved him away from herself, and stared at  
his astonished face with her trembling hand over her mouth. Hot tears began  
to flood her anguished eyes; her legs shook violently underneath her.  
  
Vincent, wondering what exactly had upset her, opened his mouth to speak.  
But she shook her head vigorously to stop him. Her tearful eyes darted all  
over the place in complete anxiety, then focused directly on him.  
  
"V..Vincent," she faltered on removing her hand from her mouth,  
"P..please..don't ever do that..again..please..."  
  
"I'm sorry," he immediately apologized in most gentle tone, "If I knew you  
didn't like.."  
  
"No!! No, it's not that at all!! It's the opposite, in fact!!" she  
interrupted passionately, much to his surprise, "I..I loved the kiss..I  
really did...and as for you..I.. I feel this...see, I can't..you..you  
wouldn't..oh!"  
  
Unable to express herself any further, Lucrecia snatched her forsaken  
briefcase off the ground, and nervously placed her glasses on her nose  
again. Vincent watched her fidget around, completely baffled by her strange  
answer. After wiping away her tears, Lucrecia made a deep bow to him, then  
straightened herself up again very excitedly.  
  
"Th..thank you for walking with me, Vincent," she spoke with a wooden  
smile, "but..I..I have to go home now...thank you...g..good night!"  
  
She instantly dashed away. Before Vincent had a chance to stop her,  
Lucrecia had scurried away across the square, and disappeared out of his  
sight.  
  
The stillness crushed him utterly.  
  
He stood rooted by the stone fountain, completely dumbstruck. His confused  
mind recalled every syllable of their conversation, but could make no sense  
of her last response. He admitted he hadn't had any intention of confessing  
or kissing her until the very last minute. But while he was kissing her,  
she seemed to enjoy it...she even confessed so herself! If that were so,  
why in God's name did she push him away like that, as if he intended to  
poison her?  
  
Maybe she simply did not feel the same emotions he felt for her.  
  
Vincent wisely decided to avoid Lucrecia until she would forgive him. He  
performed all his missions with redoubled diligence which astounded his  
friends, and won him more acclaim from the President. If he chanced upon

her in the hall, he passed her as though he had not seen her at all. He  
even avoided the library for fear of meeting her, preferring to join the  
other Turks in the cafe or lounge. He happily embraced any chance to push  
Lucrecia from his thoughts. For a long time he was quite successful, yet  
she always occupied some corner of his mind.  
  
Lucrecia occasionally bumped into him in the corridor, and was forced to  
mutter some confused "excuse me" before scurrying away. Her restless eyes  
always avoided looking up at him, perhaps for fear of blurting out some  
suppressed emotion. Her whole countenance trembled at his sight, then she  
instantly would dash away in distress.  
  
One whole month dragged by. Vincent never attempted to contact or reach  
her. He would not impose himself on her, nor would he upset her further if  
his presence discomforted her in any way.  
  
Sometimes, however, Vincent wondered why Lucrecia had repulsed him that  
night. He could have sworn the words "I love you" were on her lips, yet she  
seemed to desperately force them back. When he had kissed and fondled her,  
he knew she enjoyed it (why else would she kiss him back if she didn't?!)  
Indeed, she seemed to have forgotten most her timidity and fears as he  
touched her. But she instantly pushed him away, as if remembering  
something. And now, she seemed so afraid of him.  
  
What contradiction was that? Why did she repulse him, she enjoyed his  
caresses?!  
  
"Gerald," Vincent complained to his friend, completely at his wits' end,  
"I don't understand women."  
  
"Aye, lad, join the rest of the male population," Gerald sighed tiredly,  
"I'll wager if ye can understan' a woman, ye must be a genius!"

-End of Chp 22

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	20. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.23  
  
The Nibel Mountain peaks pointed up to the blue sky, some daring to  
disrupt the puffy, sailing clouds. Those magnificent mountains, with their  
snowy caps, towered high above their rugged domain. Their hard, barren  
rocks surveyed the rolling hills below with a sneer, most contemptuous of  
their gentle, meek appearance. A biting, arctic wind incessantly huffed  
between the jagged peaks to discourage any life from thriving. Indeed, many  
had ominously described the Nibel Mountains as "the solid proof of Nature's  
mastery over the earth".  
  
Yet despite the tyranny of those cold mountains, a small village had  
managed to snuggle up comfortably at its majestic feet. The mountain tops  
all scoffed at this insignificant village, but decided to spare its measly  
life, thinking itself far too mighty to crush it.  
  
The sleepy village of Nibelheim, initially a camp for miners, betrayed  
every sign of rural life. The quaint, cozy cottages clustered around the  
stone square, while a timeworn, battered well marked the centre. A low  
fence surrounded the village, with a plain, wooden gateway to welcome  
visitors (which weren't that many). Lush green grass fringed the edges of  
the village, even though autumn had assumed control long ago.  
  
At daybreak, the villagers would stumble out of their cottages to complete  
their daily tasks. The venerable innkeeper swept his doorstep every  
morning, then bustled inside to prepare breakfast for his guests.  
Hard-faced, sleepy miners would shuffle out their houses with picks, ready  
to dig in the mountains for materia. Their stout wives lingered by their  
doorways, gossiping about the news of the day. No sight warmed the heart  
more than these good villagers bustling about in the morning.  
  
Unfortunately, these simple people bore an unreasonable terror of any  
stranger who stumbled into their quiet village. Most of them scurried back  
inside, yet peered through the windows to study the new-comer. Therefore,  
when the rumor about "ShinRa people" arriving here proved correct, everyone  
barred their doors in fear. The men lingered by the inn door, waiting for  
the "ShinRa people", while the more timid women peeked through the windows  
from time to time. The children, on the other hand, pressed their full  
faces against the window panes and waited impatiently. They seemed  
particularly excited at the idea of seeing "an actual Turk!".  
  
Two lightly-armed soldiers were seen to march across the village square  
and stop at the wooden gateway. They still chatted in a subdued voice as  
they waited, but always kept their eyes fixed on the hills beyond. They too  
appeared anxious to greet these expected guests.  
  
All of Nibelheim, in fact, braced itself for the anticipated arrival.  
  
A low buzz echoed across the silent hills, gradually growing louder with  
each minute. Soon, a black, posh car was spotted zooming up the path  
towards the village. Everyone watched it approach until it finally halted  
at the humble gate.  
  
Vincent, who had been the driver for the journey up to Nibelheim, silently  
dismounted the car. At the same time, a tall, middle-aged man with a  
moustache stepped out. The Turk opened the back door for Lucrecia and  
Professor Hojo, then signaled for the two soldiers to approach. They  
immediately marched over to the car.  
  
After a sharp salute to the new company, one of the soldiers began to  
unload the luggage from the car. Meanwhile, the other soldier conducted the  
four new guests through the gate and across the village square.  
  
A deathly silence fell on the village as the ShinRa visitors headed  
towards the stony staircase just beyond the square. Curious heads peeked  
through dim windows or half-opened doors; they marveled at each passing  
guest, but none dared breathe a word for fear of attracting undue  
attention.  
  
Fortunately, none of the solemn guests expressed much interest in the  
quiet village, save Lucrecia who smiled in wonder at the charming  
surroundings. Professor Hojo only "humph"ed loudly and tied his hands  
behind his back as usual when unimpressed. They marched in a single file up  
the stony steps, still led by the soldier, until finally, they reached the  
ShinRa Mansion.  
  
Nestled at the higher end of Nibelheim, the ShinRa Mansion overlooked this  
sleepy village with an air of arrogant superiority. ShinRa Inc. had  
purchased this grand mansion from some wealthy merchant (now dead), and  
renovated it into an outpost for "special uses". None of the simple  
villagers ever neared it without a foreboding. Perhaps the deathly silence  
that always hovered over the grey roof frightened them; or maybe theses  
towering gables which stoically eyed their peaceful village filled their  
hearts with discomfort. Not surprisingly, the villagers avoided the mansion  
as best as possible, especially when occupied with "ShinRa people".  
  
The mansion had snuggled itself comfortably along one edge of the humble  
village, surrounded by a high stone wall to ward off uninvited guests. An  
iron gate reluctantly admitted visitors along a winding cobblestone path up  
to the arched door, where two towers jealously guarded the entrance. A  
sequence of large, rectangular windows crammed the brick facade, while a  
corresponding series of gables peeked out along the roof.  
  
Indeed, this eerie mansion bore a strange mixture of ominousness and  
beauty, further accentuated by the gentle sunlight shining between the cold  
gables.  
  
The new guests marched past the iron gate, up to the impressive oak door.  
The soldier silently led them inside, then slammed the door shut behind  
himself.  
  
They entered an extremely spacious hall, each wall with a door leading to  
a different room. A bronze chandelier dangled high up from the ceiling,  
showering the entire hall with a delicate, gentle light. At the landing of  
the broad staircase, three enormous stained windows overlooked the hall  
below. A huge oil painting of the mountains adorned the wall by the  
staircase, while a glass lantern hung over every door on the ground floor.  
One round carpet piece marked the centre.  
  
The four guests waited patiently for a moment until Davoren appeared at  
the landing of the stairs.  
  
"Ah, Professor Gast," he greeted respectfully, "Welcome to Nibelheim,  
Sir."  
  
Davoren descended the staircase to welcome Professor Gast, the middle-aged  
man with the moustache. Though nicknamed "The Greatest Scientist on earth",  
Professor Gast's appearance failed to fit the prestigious description. He  
was an extremely tall man, with a thick moustache and freshly-cropped  
greying hair. His strong chin certainly expressed strict authority, but his  
fatherly eyes warmed up to anyone who approached him. Modest to almost a  
fault, he was, as Lucrecia had rightfully described him, very patient and  
friendly; traits which did not befit "The Greatest scientist on earth" (or  
so at least President ShinRa had declared)  
  
After shaking hands with the three scientists, and a quick exchange of  
greetings with Vincent, Davoren conducted the guests up the broad steps. he  
guessed them to be quite fatigued with the journey across the countryside.  
  
"I trust Mr. Valentine made sure you all had a comfortable trip, Professor  
Gast?" Davoren asked as they ascended the stairs to the second floor.  
  
Professor Hojo only scoffed, but Gast graciously answered, "Oh, quite so,  
Mr. Davoren. We had a pleasant journey up to here, thank you."  
  
"Is all the laboratory equipment ready, Sir?" interjected Hojo with forced  
politeness, "I want to start immediately."  
  
"Of course, Professor," Davoren replied, "Everything has been prepared."  
  
"No, I think it's better if we rest for a while," Gast suggested amicably  
to his colleague, "I'm sure poor Lucrecia is extremely exhausted with the  
long journey."  
  
Davoren halted in the corridor as he turned around to face the dissentient  
visitors; he folded his arms, waiting for a final agreement. Lucrecia  
fidgeted very nervously in her spot while Vincent stood a few steps behind  
her. Professor Hojo's mean eyes glared back at the silent, timid woman,  
then at the two Turks most insolently. An awkward silence fell on the  
group.  
  
"Fine! Fine!" the spiteful man spluttered, "I suppose we ALL need some  
rest."  
  
"Very well, then," resumed Davoren, "I'll guide you to your rooms. Right  
this way, please."  
  
Seven months had passed since that terrorist incident at the Reactor, yet  
Professor Gast had never stopped voicing his displeasure. He had been so  
brutally terrorized, so roughly mishandled, he had demanded President  
ShinRa find him a quiet place for research.  
  
"Far away from the riff-raff of this crazy city, and all this gratuitous  
violence!" as Gast had angrily expressed.  
  
Being in charge of the promising "JENOVA Project", and unquestionably the  
most important scientist in ShinRa Inc., Professor Gast's wishes were  
immediately taken into consideration: he wished to conduct further  
"investigations" into the alien lifeform as part of the overall research,  
yet refused to have an entire committee of scientists tagging along. This  
research required the presence of two scientists, three at most.  
  
"You'd think he runs the place, the way he's ordering everyone around,"  
President ShinRa had complained while reading the list of requests, "Who's  
the boss around here, anyway!"  
  
Nevertheless, Professor Gast's wishes were obeyed. The President chose  
Nibelheim, a remote village near the rugged mountains of Nibel to be the  
research place. The villagers were kind-hearted, simple people ("stupid"  
was the President's expression), and would hardly interfere with the  
Project. The ShinRa Mansion could accommodate several scientists, all the  
necessary laboratory equipment, including a preservatory tank for JENOVA.  
  
Therefore, the alien lifeform was carefully transported via the sea to the  
quaint village of Nibelheim. In the meantime, Davoren had been sent one  
month in advance to prepare the mansion for the arriving guests. He had  
dutifully overseen the delivery of JENOVA from the harbor to the  
preservatory tank; every room in the mansion had been impeccably prepared;  
he had even hired a servant, some middle-aged woman of homely appearance,  
to cook and clean for the honored guests (however, she was strictly  
instructed NOT to near the library below).  
  
Vincent, on the other hand, was ordered to escort Professor Gast and his  
entourage when they would actually leave Midgar. President ShinRa,  
furthermore, had informed the Turk he would be staying at Nibelheim, with  
Davoren, until the research was completed.  
  
"Now that could range from one month to a full year," the President had  
laughed, puffing his dirty cigar, "So you be sure to bring along plenty of  
video games, magazines, or whatever else you like, Vincent. Nibelheim is  
the most boring place on earth..right after the Morgans', that is."  
  
So, with a most friendly handshake, President ShinRa wished the Turk a  
"bon voyage", and dismissed him.  
  
Since that fateful night one month ago, Vincent had never tried speaking  
to Lucrecia. Her repulsive action still baffled his senses, yet he  
patiently waited for her to forgive whatever offense he had committed  
against her. Unfortunately, Lucrecia never came to him; either the Project  
had completely won her attention, or she simply refused to see Vincent  
anymore. He knew she tried her best to avoid him, as though he intended to  
harm her, but still, Vincent would not impose himself.  
  
His reaction had been ambivalent on learning that Lucrecia would be on the  
entourage to Nibelheim. Vincent, of course, missed her immensely, even  
yearned for her again. On the other hand, her reserved treatment of him had  
left a sharp pang in his heart. However, Vincent bore the blow as  
gracefully as he could, and maintained a stoic face.  
  
She scarcely spoke to him during the entire trip, if only to say "excuse  
me" or "sorry". Much to his dismay, she preferred to discuss testing  
samples, data information, or other complicated details with Professor  
Hojo. Her eyes always avoided Vincent's, and she treated him with such  
stiffness, it pained him deeply.  
  
Yet despite her caution, Vincent could see straight through her cold  
disguise. He detected an unnaturally nervous tremor in her voice whenever  
she spoke in his presence. If their eyes happened to meet, Vincent  
instantly discerned her frightened look. Lucrecia seemed so afraid of him;  
afraid he'd guess some dark secret of hers. Though she vigorously sought to  
conceal it, she knew Vincent had noticed her apprehension. He only pretended  
to notice nothing.  
  
However, Vincent wasn't certain what exactly aroused such distress in  
Lucrecia. At first, the kiss had sprung to his mind: perhaps that still  
upset her? But his anxious heart insisted something else, far more serious,  
troubled the poor woman. But what?  
  
Vincent battered his brains in search of a satisfactory answer, yet none  
justified her strange behavior.  
  
Days passed. The three scientists bustled incessantly downstairs in the  
library, scribbling furiously or conducting mysterious "tests". In fact,  
they seldom emerged from the basement during the day, if only to grab a  
bite or take a quick nap. Neither Vincent nor Davoren dared disturb them;  
instead, they strolled around the village, or chatted idly over a game of  
poker. Though Vincent considered Davoren his best Turk friend, he never  
confided in him any of his personal concerns about Lucrecia. If Davoren  
asked him why he looked so wistful or glum, Vincent would automatically  
blame it on the autumn weather.  
  
He kept all his thoughts, concerns, and worries bottled up in his own  
mind. A thousand little questions frustrated his senses: he knew Lucrecia  
concealed some heavy matter not meant for him to know. He saw it  
immediately whenever she passed or looked at him.  
  
But what was it she tried so hard (and in vain) to hide from him?  
  
Determined to set his mind at rest, Vincent decided to ask Lucrecia  
herself for a definite answer. Therefore, one afternoon, about two weeks  
since their arrival, Vincent wandered down to the library.  
  
  
End of Chp.23Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	21. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
  
I Know What Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.24  
  
The path to the basement consisted of a long winding staircase leading  
down, down to the caves below. On entering this twisting passage, Vincent  
paused to look around, then ventured down the wooden steps very cautiously.  
A chilly wind howled through this dim passage, making the echoes of his  
footsteps sound louder. The flimsy steps creaked as he descended down, yet  
Vincent refused to be deterred. He would find an answer today.  
  
After clearing the footing, Vincent marched through the underground  
cavern, ignoring the sickly skulls which cluttered the corners. He passed  
the crypt chamber, until he finally reached the doorway to the ominous  
library.  
  
As he neared the door, Vincent heard the two voices of the Professors  
discussing some subject very gravely. Hojo apparently wanted to finish some  
"tests", while Gast insisted they wait before continuing. Their dissentient  
voices grew increasingly louder as Vincent opened the door to a tiny crack.  
He peeked inside.  
  
His eyes tensed as he spotted Lucrecia perched on a bulky operation table,  
fingering her lab coat very silently. Her pale face betrayed extreme  
sadness, if not utter despair, mixed with fatigue. Indeed, her mind seemed  
unaware of the two man's presence, so engrossed in her private thoughts.  
  
Professor Hojo marched over to her, his brash voice still arguing with  
Gast, and handed her a glass of water. The spiteful man then began to  
gesticulate as he left the woman and returned to the other chamber, where  
Gast supposedly was.  
  
Lucrecia rubbed her forehead as their dissentient voices filled the  
library. With a trembling hand, she lifted the glass to her lips, but  
stopped short on spotting Vincent at the doorway. He made some silent  
signal for her to follow him, then retreated back to the hall outside.  
Lucrecia glanced nervously towards the other chamber, where the two  
Professors were still arguing, then hopped off the table top.  
  
After sneaking out the library, she gently shut the door behind her.  
Lucrecia coughed softly as Vincent stood directly infront of her, until she  
finally managed to look up at him. This was the first time they were alone  
since that night. The two fixed their eyes on each other for a full minute.  
  
"Lucrecia," he whispered at last, "I need to speak to you."  
  
She fidgeted in her spot, then protested in an even lower voice, "I  
can't, Vincent. they have to finish those analysis tests, and I must..."  
  
"Please, Lucrecia," he begged, "If you don't want to see me again, I'll  
respect your wishes. But I only ask ten minutes of your time..please."  
  
Her restless eyes darted all over the hall, suspicious someone may have  
overheard them. Lucrecia glanced at Vincent's pleading face, then feebly  
nodded her head in consent.  
  
So, after excusing herself from the two Professors (Hojo needed some  
persuasion to release her), Lucrecia left the library with Vincent. Neither  
breathed a single word until they finally exited the mansion and were  
strolling towards the village square.  
  
The sun had just begun to set between the mountain peaks as the two walked  
very slowly down the stony path. It's golden rays shone over the quaint  
village, so sorry to abandon it to the greedy night. Most of the simple

villagers had retreated long ago into their cozy homes, tired and hungry. A  
warm fire glowed through their smoggy windows, while a thin trail of smoke  
escaped their brick chimneys. The faint smell of food permeated the air as  
dinner time crept closer.  
  
The two strolled across the deserted square, letting silence enjoy their  
company. Vincent wrangled his brains to begin the conversation, yet failed  
dismally to pin his exact thoughts, let alone express them. Lucrecia walked  
timidly by his side. She dared not open her mouth.  
  
"Listen, Lucrecia," he began at length, "I can't figure out why you've  
been trying so hard to avoid me this past month and a half. If..if it's  
about that, then I.."  
  
"N..no..Vincent," she interrupted very softly, covering her mouth for some  
reason, "It's not that at all..."  
  
"Well, whatever be your reason, I won't discuss it with you. I wanted to  
talk to you about something else."  
  
She glanced significantly at him, then cast her eyes down again. They  
paused by the battered well at the centre of the square.  
  
Vincent cleared his throat, then resumed, "Lucrecia, I've known you for  
about half a year now, so I think I have some right to speak to you freely,  
and hope I won't offend you."  
  
She tried to protest, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand, "No,  
no. Please, let me finish. Lucrecia, I know there's something troubling  
your mind, and I also know you don't want ME in particular to know it. You  
avoid me at all costs; you scarcely speak to me. But you cannot conceal it  
from me, Lucrecia, because I can feel it weighing you down."  
  
She kept her eyes fixed on the ground as she replied in a faltering tone,  
"I..I appreciate your concern, Vincent..I really do...but there's nothing  
wrong or 'weighing' me down..I just.."  
  
"Lucrecia," he interrupted firmly, "Please, do not lie to me."  
  
The poor woman bit her lower lip to stop the tears from flooding her eyes.  
She even turned around to leave him, but Vincent immediately reached for  
her hand to stop her. He pressed it against his heart in hopes of  
mollifying the pitiful woman. Nothing hurt him more than to see her so  
miserable.  
  
"Tell me what's making you so sad, Lucrecia," he pleaded very tenderly,  
"And I promise, I won't bother you ever again."  
  
"Why are you doing this to me, Vincent?!" she scolded frantically, looking  
around herself in anguish. Her beautiful face bore a curious mixture of  
despair and frustration, "Can't you see how painful it is for me to see you?  
I tell you nothing is wrong! You..you're just imagining things, that's  
what!!"  
  
Unable to say anymore, Lucrecia yanked her hand out of his and stormed  
away. Vincent followed her until she finally halted at the wooden gateway  
of the village. Though she refused to face Vincent again, he could  
see her shoulders tremble with great agitation; she even tried to  
desperately stifle her sobs. Vincent lingered a few steps behind her, then  
walked up to her.  
  
"Lucrecia," he whispered lovingly, forcing to her to face him, "If there  
is anything I can do to stop your pain, then tell me, and I will do it. But  
please, don't torture yourself like this just to lie to me...because of all  
people, I can't stand to see you suffer."  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore what I say, Vincent," she argued as she stepped  
away from him, "You wouldn't understand, even if I told you...and there's  
nothing you CAN do..it..it's too late."  
  
"What do you mean 'too late'?"  
  
Lucrecia hesitated for a long time, the same painful tears welling up in  
her eyes. She tried in vain to avoid looking at him.  
  
"Lucrecia, what do you mean 'too late'?! Answer me!!"  
  
"V..Vincent," she whispered at last, "I...I'm pregnant with Hojo's child."  
  
Silence.  
  
He gaped at her beautiful, tearful face, absolutely thunderstruck with the  
news. His senses swirled around his numb mind to comprehend her meaning. He  
tried several times to speak, but every time crumbled back to confusion. He  
could think of nothing to say, nor did she seem to expect him to. He stared  
blankly at her face for a full minute until his voice returned at last.  
  
"Does...does he know?" he asked softly.  
  
"Of course he does," Lucrecia answered, her eyes tensing in further  
anguish, "That was why I..told you not to kiss me...I was so afraid I  
would..forget myself, or you would..oh, see..I was pregnant then too. I've  
been so for the last three months..."  
  
"I'm..sorry..," Vincent apologized feebly, "If I..I didn't know you and  
Professor Hojo were.."  
  
"No! We're not!!" she denied, clenching her fists, "It's you I..I...see?!  
I told you you wouldn't understand any of this!!"  
  
He studied her wretched face, yet made no reply.  
  
"It's for an experiment," she explained, her voice dropping suddenly,  
"...for the Project.. Professor Hojo had designed this new experiment with  
Professor's Gast's help...and had asked me to..to.."  
  
"What 'experiment'?" Vincent asked in alarm, "L..Lucrecia..are you some  
kind of guinea pig in this Project?! Is that what you mean?!"  
  
Though she did not speak a word, Vincent immediately saw the answer as  
clear as day. His eyes widened in horror. Hot anger suddenly boiled in his  
heart.  
  
"Lucrecia, don't you place any value on your life?!!" he cried  
passionately, "And what about your child?? Doesn't any of that mean  
anything to you??!"  
  
"Listen," she answered, trying to sound as composed as possible, "I don't  
expect you to really understand this, but I have never dedicated myself to  
anything like I've done to this Project. I am prepared to sacrifice my  
time, energy..yes, even my life, if need be, for this Project. I have  
placed everything and everyone else after it, because to me, Vincent, this  
Project is the single most important factor in my life!"  
  
She looked sternly at his face to make sure he heard every word. Yet  
despite the steadiness of her voice, her eyes retained a most painful  
gleam. Vincent stared meaningfully at her, then hung his head in shame.  
Neither spoke a word for a long time.  
  
"I..I can't understand your actions, Lucrecia," he replied with great  
difficulty, "Nor do I have the right or capability to question them. If  
you..have chosen to do this, then I won't interfere in any way with you."  
  
Vincent expelled a deep sigh, then looked straight at the woman as he  
continued, "But, Lucrecia, I can't help it if I love you so much..it pains  
me when you say you'd throw away your life...when you think it so  
cheap..while I'd gladly sacrifice mine a hundred times just for you. That's  
how much you mean to me."  
  
Lucrecia turned her head away, clasping both her hands over her breast.  
She seemed to struggle violently to repress her emotions. Indeed, at times,  
she seemed on the verge of saying something, but checked herself in time.  
  
"And even if my love is unrequited," he resumed calmly, "I..I won't  
complain or let you see my bleeding heart..just as long as I know you're  
absolutely happy with what you've done."  
  
When Lucrecia made no response, but fidgeted in confusion instead, he took  
both her trembling hands in his. She dared not even lift her head to see  
that pleading expression on his face. Her shoulders shook as he bended  
slightly to peer into her suffering face.  
  
"Lucrecia," he begged again very tenderly, "Can you look me in the eye,  
and please say you're happy with what you've done?"  
  
He felt her hands grow alarmingly cold. Bitter, unchecked tears streamed  
down her cheeks as she tried to control her agitated emotion: perhaps she  
thought the request too much. Suddenly, her angry eyes darted straight up  
to him in unfeigned anger.  
  
"Vincent," she sobbed out miserably, "just..JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!"  
  
Lucrecia immediately broke out of his grip and dashed out the gateway  
towards the fields just outside the village. Though Vincent called her name  
several times to stop her, she rushed away from him as quickly as possible.  
Vincent watched her until she finally disappeared behind some hills.  
  
The cruel silence laughed at him.  
  
He thought it best not to peruse her anymore. After all, what more could  
he do or say? Hadn't he already caused her enough grief?  
  
He began to wander aimlessly around the village in hopes of clearing his  
mind again. The news of her pregnancy still shocked him beyond belief: no  
wonder she had repulsed him so vigorously that night! No wonder she had  
avoided him all this time! She wanted to spare herself all this pain...she  
had thought he might stand in her way.  
  
Vincent recalled every word of their last conversation, yet stopped midway  
since it only redoubled his pain. Strange he bore her no malice, nor could  
he scold her for spurning his love. He only felt this cold, black void gnaw  
at his heart from inside out.  
  
He drifted absent-mindedly around the quiet village, listening to his  
footsteps echo on the stone pavement. He passed the same houses at least a  
dozen times until his mind simply lost track of time. His tired feet  
wandered over the village square, the mountain pathway, even the fields  
beyond the village, yet could not soothe his aching emotions. In fact, his  
ordeal worsened with every passing hour.  
  
When Vincent had finally grown too weary of wandering, he headed back  
towards the village again. The bold sunset had streaked the sky with a  
brilliant hue of orange, fringed by a darker shade along the rolling hills.  
The distant howls of some lonely animal reechoed across the valley, as if  
morning the departure of day. Indeed, a faint moon had already appeared at  
the far end of the sky, accompanied by a wintry breeze.  
  
Vincent strolled along the beaten track up to the gateway, hanging his  
head in deep contemplation. His brows knit themselves so tightly; his face,  
his whole appearance expressed such solemnity. He struggled to unite all  
his feelings, ideas, and emotions, yet all in vain. His tumultuous thoughts  
scurried around his mind, slipping out of his fingers like water.  
  
A strange, persistent feeling tugged at his anguished heart; some emotion  
which ravaged his mind, but failed to formulate into words. It wasn't  
bitterness...not reproach..not pity. Then what was it?  
  
Vincent finally reached the wooden gateway of the village. Yet his feet  
froze solid on spotting two lovers embracing each other just a few yards  
away. Vincent hid behind one of the gateway's posts, and let his stoic eyes  
linger a moment on the tender pair.  
  
The young woman, with a long ponytail dangling behind her back,  
nestled her entire body in the man's arms. She stood with her back facing  
Vincent, so that he could only see her trembling shoulders. Her head had  
buried itself completely against the man's shoulder as she sobbed in  
silence. She wore a long lab coat over her slender body.  
  
Her lover, an extremely thin man, continuously stroked her back while  
whispering into her ear. He fixed his narrow eyes on the stony ground, so  
that he did not notice the Turk either. His whole attention, in fact,  
seemed absorbed in soothing the woman's agitated emotions. He even kissed  
her hair several times in hopes of calming her. Similarly, the man wore a  
lab coat like hers.  
  
Vincent had immediately recognized Professor Hojo and Lucrecia.  
  
He gazed silently at the couple another minute or so before turning away  
in despair. Yet he only managed to take a few steps when he stopped again.  
His forlorn eyes stole another glance at the two.  
  
Lucrecia had decided her own path, and obviously did not want Vincent to  
accompany her on the journey. If she had chosen the Project, then he would  
not interfere in any way. If she had chosen Hojo over him, then he would  
not complain or cry. Vincent thought himself far too loving, or probably  
just too stupid, to find any fault with Lucrecia.  
  
What right had he to intervene now? How could he dream of questioning any  
of her actions, even her preference to Hojo?  
  
He finally discovered what that strange emotion had been. It was bitter,  
hopeless defeat.  
  
He watched the two dawdle in each other's arms another moment, then tore  
himself away before being noticed. He did not look back again.  
  
What mattered his misery...if there was a smile to brighten her beautiful  
face? What mattered his pathetic pain...if Lucrecia was happy? Did it  
matter to him?  
  
"As long as she's happy..," he repeated to himself in a whisper, "As long  
as she's happy... I don't mind."

-End of Chp.24

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	22. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.25  
  
"Well, well, Mr. Valentine," Professor Hojo greeted mockingly, "I'm so  
glad you could spare a minute from your busy schedule."  
  
Several days had passed since Vincent had last spoken to Lucrecia.  
After that miserable day, Vincent never neared Lucrecia for fear of  
upsetting her with his unpleasant presence. In fact, he avoided any kind  
of contact with her unless absolutely necessary.  
  
He expected no apology from her; not even a kind word to ease his pain:  
why should she? He had wrought this suffering on himself. How could  
even dream of blaming her? Indeed, for every argument, he found some  
plausible excuse for her. He refused to find any fault with Lucrecia.  
  
She spent her days imprisoned downstairs in the library, succumbing to  
all analysis tests both Professors thought essential. Every minute of  
her time or ounce of energy were immediately sacrificed to the greedy  
Project. Thought Professor Gast warned her not to overwork herself on  
account of her child's health, Lucrecia refused to stop working. It was,  
literally, the only solace to her torn mind.  
  
However, at some rare moments. Lucrecia would stop working and let her  
mind stray into her gloomy thoughts. Nobody could guess what or who  
occupied her mind during those few minutes.  
  
Yet while poor Lucrecia slaved in the Mansion, Vincent scarcely stayed  
inside. The grand, beautiful house had aroused such a passionate disgust  
in his heart, he preferred to accompany soldiers on patrol duty rather  
than lounge inside. If not, then he would practice with his gun in the  
deserted fields beyond the village; perhaps just drift aimlessly along  
the hills, even though Davoren warned him many times of wild animals.  
Anything but sit in that loathsome mansion.  
  
Despite his distraught, broken heart, Vincent concealed his feelings so  
artfully, especially from Davoren, nobody would have guessed anything  
troubled his mind. His impeccable obedience impressed everyone around  
him, as well as his business-like, courteous manners. Yet his face had  
grown exceptionally cold in such a short time. A hard, unnaturally  
frigid glow had appeared in his eyes. He hardly spoke unless spoken to,  
and shunned any form of company, preferring to wallow in his private  
thoughts by himself.  
  
On one particular autumn afternoon, Vincent had been aimlessly  
strolling along the fields as usual, when a soldier came rushing to him  
from the village. Through several gasps, he informed the Turk that  
Professor Hojo wished to see him immediately, concerning "some very,  
very important matter".  
  
Vincent resentfully consented to obey the hateful request (he did not  
find the thought of meeting Hojo particularly appealing). So, without  
further delay, he returned to the quiet village, the breathless soldier  
lagging behind him. Vincent marched wearily into the Mansion, through  
the endless corridors, and down the twisting passage. He stopped  
momentarily at the dreaded library door to knock, then obeyed on hearing  
Hojo's brash voice cry "enter".  
  
Vincent took three steps into the dim library before halting near the  
first bookshelf. His eyes scanned the new surroundings: several gigantic  
bookcases, stuffed beyond the limit with books, ran uniformly along the  
stone walls. An awkward generator had miraculously squeezed itself at  
the opposite wall, filling the library with a very low hum. The huge,  
rectangular operation table Lucrecia had been perched on still dominated  
the far corner of the room. Yet now numerous dissection instruments  
cluttered the top, accompanied by two yellow manuscripts and a glass of  
water.  
  
Vincent also noted the stacks of books huddling along the grim walls,  
some wide open, others rudely overturned. Several scraps of crumpled  
papers scattered around the book stacks, as if paying homage to their  
vast knowledge. Finally, a flickering lamp, cruelly pushed into a  
corner, filled the great library with a dim, feeble light. The three  
scientists had obviously been quite busy with their Project.  
  
Professor Hojo emerged from the other chamber of the library, wearing  
his thick glasses and carrying an enormous book between his bony hands.  
He welcomed the new guest with that previous remark before slamming the  
book shut and turning his face to the Turk. Vincent, however, merely  
stiffened his back as a response. His calm eyes fixed themselves on the  
malicious Professor with an abnormally stoic expression. He did not show  
the slightest trace of annoyance at the sarcastic remark.  
  
Professor Hojo dumped the burdensome book on the disorderly table top,  
the adjusted his glasses very arrogantly. With a most haughty motion of  
his hand, he beckoned the Turk to step forward, as if saying "I am your  
superior, Sir, what will you do about that?" Vincent obeyed the  
command in silence.  
  
"Now then, Mr. Valentine," Hojo said, eyeing the morose Turk top to  
bottom, "I asked for you because I want to discuss some matter of  
particular interest to me. To be specific: Ms. Lucrecia."  
  
Vincent made no answer, except a slight twitch of his hands at the  
mention of the name. The Professor coughed importantly, studying the  
Turk's tall figure with peculiar interest.  
  
"Let us be honest, Sir," Hojo declared as he tied both arms behind his  
back, "I never liked you the minute I saw you. I think you a pathetic  
lackey to the company, despite all your over-praised merits. And you do  
not particularly hold me in high regard, correct?"  
  
Vincent still refused to answer. He remained rooted to his spot,  
returning Hojo's glare with a perfectly unruffled look.  
  
"Well, you're a man of few words, I see," the Professor frowned  
contemptuously, "No point stating the obvious. But I did not wish to  
waste my precious time on such frivolities, Mr. Valentine."  
  
He began pacing around the untidy room, re-adjusting his glasses  
whenever they slipped down his nose. His long shadow danced with the  
flickering light as he glared maliciously at the unresponsive Turk.  
Vincent never flinched from his spot. Instead, his cool eyes followed  
the Professor; he masked all his emotions behind a most serene visage.  
  
"Mr. Valentine," the spiteful man pronounced firmly, "regardless of our  
mutual dislikes, I would like to remind you of your proper position. The  
ShinRa President grants us scientists full authority provided our work  
benefits the company in return. YOUR duty, Sir, in case you had somehow  
forgotten, is to merely oversee our safety, and any interference in our  
work means a breach of your duty. Is that clear?"  
  
When Vincent made no reply, Hojo stamped his foot with incensed  
impatience.  
  
"DAMN YOU!!!" he roared at the top of his voice, "ANSWER ME!! IS THAT  
CLEAR?!!"  
  
Vincent reluctantly replied, "Yes, Sir."  
  
"Furthermore, Mr. Valentine, might I also remind you that as a Turk in  
ShinRa Inc., you are obliged to obey our commands to the letter. And  
not, under any circumstances, question or judge our actions with your  
poor, narrow judgment. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Professor Hojo pursed his thin lips as he halted directly infront of  
Vincent. His rat-like eyes narrowed keenly on the Turk, ready to murder  
him if only possible. Vincent still retained the stoic expression on his  
hard face; he refused to answer the impudent man beyond that required.  
  
After an awkward silence, Hojo resumed his pacing around the room. He  
occasionally kicked a hapless book out of his way, yet never took his  
scornful eyes off the Turk.  
  
"I am pleased you understand," Hojo smirked, that same mocking tone  
returning to his voice, "Apparently, you forgot your duties a few days  
ago. I happened to find Ms. Lucrecia quite upset with your..how do I put  
it...'difference of opinion' as regards to.."  
  
But Professor Hojo stopped short on noticing Lucrecia standing in the  
doorway, her pale face betraying great distress. She had, in fact, been  
listening behind the door to Hojo's harangue until she finally decided  
to discover who the addressee was. At the sight of Vincent, intense  
alarm had seized her so violently, she almost collapsed in her spot had  
not she gripped one of the bookcases. Vincent, on the other hand, merely  
glanced back at her, then returned his calm eyes to the spiteful  
Professor. He made no acknowledgement, not even a polite nod of the head,  
to poor Lucrecia.  
  
"Ah, my dear, we were just talking about you," Hojo greeted amicably,  
yet keeping his narrow eyes fixed on the Turk. The Professor then made  
some gesture to invite her forward, and resumed, "As I was saying, Mr.  
Valentine, I happened to find Lucrecia crying by the village well, quite  
upset with your opinion concerning a particular aspect of the Project.  
Indeed, she was so distraught, it took me well over an hour just to calm  
her down to a reasonable level and find out what upset her."  
  
Vincent did not wince a muscle at Hojo's accusing tone. Lucrecia, who  
had walked up to the Professor during his speech, now fidgeted very  
anxiously a few steps behind him. Her tearful eyes dared not look up for  
fear of meeting Vincent's; instead, she cast them down to the stony  
ground in shame. Nor could Vincent induce himself to look at her  
suffering face. In truth, it took him great effort to maintain his stoic  
expression, knowing at the same time how badly this embarrassing  
spectacle pained her. He wished Hojo had at least the decency to spare  
her this confrontation.  
  
"And obviously, Mr. Valentine," Professor Hojo sneered through grit  
teeth, "your opinion, the very recollection of it, still distresses Ms.  
Lucrecia. Therefore, Sir, I ask you to restrict any further personal  
opinions to yourself, without conveying them to Ms. Lucrecia. To be  
honest, you lack the proper judgment, capability, and intellect to  
debate our actions or express any valid opinion about them."  
  
Lucrecia turned to the professor, much alarmed at his brazen behavior.  
She opened her mouth to protest, but immediately turned away in disgust.  
she could not say anything to stop this humiliating scene.  
  
When he had finally finished his pompous lecture, Hojo folded both arms  
across his chest and glared arrogantly at the Turk. However, Vincent  
would not answer. He had merely stared calmly back at the insolent man,  
letting him hurl insult after insult at him as much as he pleased.  
  
A heavy stillness filled the room for a moment. Professor Hojo tapped  
his foot impatiently, while Vincent persisted to linger in his obstinate  
silence. Lucrecia did not speak a word either.  
  
"Do feel free to speak, Mr. Valentine," invited the Professor  
mockingly, breaking the silence at last, "It takes at least two people  
to make a conversation, you know."  
  
Vincent said nothing.  
  
"P..Professor Hojo..please don't do this..," Lucrecia beseeched meekly.  
But Hojo only dismissed her with a rude wave of the hand: he would  
have an answer!  
  
"From what I gather, Sir," Hojo sneered as he tied both arms behind his  
back again, "You think yourself a very...close friend to Ms. Lucrecia,  
yes? I would think you'd have much to say to me, especially  
regarding..."  
  
"With all due respect, Professor," Vincent interrupted dryly, "I would  
prefer you refrained from discussing my personal life, as it is, and  
forgive my impertinence, none of your business."  
  
"Ah!" exclaimed Hojo, eager to argue, "But you certainly took the full  
liberty of discussing her personal life, even though it was, to use  
your own words, none of your business."  
  
"You misunderstand my intentions, Professor," Vincent answered with a  
cool, restrained tone. he glanced at Lucrecia, who had turned away in  
disgrace, but immediately returned to the malicious Professor, "I assure  
you, I had no desire to upset her or offend her feelings. I had merely  
expressed a heartfelt concern for Ms. Lucrecia's safety and her child,  
on account of her involvement in the JENOVA Project."  
  
At the mention of 'the child', Hojo gave the Turk a very suspicious,  
hostile look. His piercing eyes darted back to trembling Lucrecia,  
silently berating her for having revealed too much. However, he soon  
faced Vincent again, quite agitated but under control. An ugly grimace  
distorted Professor Hojo's thin lips as he resumed to pace around the  
chaotic room; he tied both arms behind his back as usual. Both Lucrecia  
and Vincent watched him, one apprehension, the latter with  
well-concealed yet genuine hatred.  
  
In truth, Vincent could not recall when Professor Hojo had struck him  
as more revolting, despicable, and spiteful than he did at that  
particular moment.  
  
"'A heartfelt concern for Ms. Lucrecia's safety and her child', hey?"  
repeated Hojo in a mumbling voice full of malice, "Hm..hm..and pray tell  
me, Mr. Valentine, what aspect of the JENOVA Project do you reckon to be  
a threat to Ms. Lucrecia's safety? On what facts, with your obvious lack  
of information, do you base your 'heartfelt concern' on? Enlighten me,  
do!"  
  
Hojo's increasingly aggressive tone startled the poor woman. Vincent  
narrowed his keen eyes at the Professor's biting sarcasm, yet replied as  
coldly as before, "I realize your knowledge of this Project surpasses  
mine greatly, Professor. However, I found Ms. Lucrecia's consent to  
become, pardon my bluntness, a human guinea pig quite alarming."  
  
"There! Now we're going around in meaningless circles again!" thundered  
Hojo, losing all patience in a flash, "Need I constantly remind you of  
your duties as a Turk?! I say you..."  
  
"I am quite aware of my duties as a Turk, Professor," Vincent  
interrupted composedly, "You need not remind me of my obligations to  
ShinRa Inc., or to you, thank you."  
  
"Yes, so you claim! If you were, indeed, aware of your duties, you  
would not pester Ms. Lucrecia with your unfounded fears or 'heartfelt  
concern', Mr. Valentine! You do NOT argue or question our  
decisions. Your sole duty is to ensure our safety! nothing more, nothing  
less."  
  
"But you can't just experiment on human life, Professor!" stated  
Vincent very firmly, feeling the suppressed rage rise to the surface.  
His eyes involuntarily glanced again at Lucrecia, who too struggled  
against some violent emotion.  
  
Hojo suddenly halted infront of Vincent, his eyebrows knitted in  
intense fury; this challenge to his authority obviously enraged him  
beyond measure. Vincent stiffened his back on meeting the Professor's  
fiery eyes, yet refrained from speaking.  
  
"We are scientists," Hojo hissed as he pushed his glasses up his nose  
very haughtily, "And we can do whatever we want! As a Turk, you will  
obey MY authority and MY command!! If I tell you we can do whatever we  
please, then you will accept it without question!! That's is your sole  
duty: to obey your superiors!! Do you understand, you meddling piece of  
COW DUNG??!!!!!"  
  
Hojo's brash voice roared all over the library by the time he had  
finished those words. His lean face fumed with wild rage as he poked  
Vincent's shoulder to emphasize his point. Lucrecia was thunderstruck  
with horror.  
  
"And if you dare...even DARE interfere with us again," Hojo spluttered  
uncontrollably into Vincent's calm face, "I swear you will suffer the  
consequences!! MARK MY WORDS, TURK, YOU WILL!!!!"  
  
Vincent coolly wiped the Professor's spit off his own face, then stood  
as rigidly as before. He made no reply.  
  
Hojo opened his mouth to continue, but stopped short when he noticed  
Davoren suddenly enter the library. The Professor glared breathlessly at  
the intruder for a moment before turning away in annoyance. The leader  
of the Turks paused a minute before venturing further into the dim room.  
He nodded his head respectfully to Lucrecia, whose cheeks were flushed  
in unconcealed embarrassment.  
  
Hojo guzzled down the full glass of water, yet said nothing.  
  
"Is there a problem, Professor?" Davoren asked finally.  
  
Vincent and Lucrecia remained rooted to their spots, while Hojo yanked  
off his glasses on hearing the innocent question. His mocking eyes  
continuously darted back to Vincent's calm face, growing more insolent  
with every word.  
  
"Why, yes, Mr.Davoren," the spiteful man sneered loudly, "Evidently,  
I'm trying to do your job. Namely, teaching one of your men his proper  
place as a Turk in ShinRa Inc."  
  
Davoren glanced back at Vincent, then replied coolly, "I see. Has Mr.  
Valentine offended you somehow?"  
  
Hojo scoffed again at the question, but answered with forced  
politeness, "To be sure! Kindly, Mr.Davoren, remind your man over there  
that any interference in my business constitutes an interference in my  
company's business. If he has...a problem with the Project...then he is  
to restrict his thoughts to himself! I will not tolerate any sort of  
disobedience or disrespect from anyone!!!"  
  
Davoren happened to glance at Lucrecia for a split second. Yet from his  
face alone, she realized at once Davoren had guessed the exact  
"problem". He had, indeed, overheard enough of the speech to understand  
that she was pregnant, and had accepted to be a guinea pig for some  
mysterious experiment. The poor woman, mortified beyond measure, decided  
to flee this horrid spectacle. So without even a polite farewell, she  
rushed out of the room, as if escaping a dreadful nightmare.  
  
Vincent stepped aside to let her pass, the resumed his formal spot  
after she had left. Davoren coughed to ease the tension he had caused  
while Hojo only turned his back away from the two men; he found their  
presence an unbearable nuisance.  
  
A very awkward silence followed.  
  
Though Vincent's face still retained the same dispassionate composure,  
his blood boiled with violent rage. He had clearly seen Lucrecia's  
embarrassed tears as she left through the door. Despite her every effort  
to avoid his eyes, he had seen them streaming down her cheeks.  
  
Davoren cleared his throat, then answered very deliberately, "Of  
course, Professor, nor will I tolerate such behavior. if Mr. Valentine  
has...disobeyed or disrespected you in any way, I will, most assuredly,  
speak to him," he looked askance at Vincent as he added, "..and he will  
apologize if necessary."  
  
Hojo twisted his lips into a wry smile, only too delighted at the  
thought of an apology. He tied both arms behind his back as he faced  
Vincent, his mean eyes gleaming with triumph. Instead of defending  
himself, Vincent stood rooted to his spot; he would not speak.  
  
"However, Professor Hojo," Davoren continued in a surprisingly firm  
voice, "I'll also remind you that you must, and will, show  
Mr. Valentine the proper civility required, since he is an employee under  
the direct command of President ShinRa."  
  
Hojo glared maliciously at the man, yet said nothing this time.  
Davoren's hard face and cold tone certainly discouraged any  
interruption.  
  
Davoren folded both arms before adding with more coolness, "I would  
also strongly advise you to refrain from comparing Mr. Valentine  
to...animal excrement..in future times. It is quite undecorous, not to  
mention very unwise, if you understand me."  
  
Professor Hojo acknowledged the meaning with a dismissive nod of the  
head. He gave Vincent one last haughty look before turning away from the  
two. He began rummaging through the manuscripts cluttered on the table,  
and said no more.  
  
Davoren, believing his point had been understood, decided to retreat  
out of the library. Therefore, with a tap on Vincent's shoulder, he  
signaled for them to leave the insolent man alone. The Turk immediately  
obeyed.  
  
Professor Gast bumped into them as they exited through the doorway,  
his face showing great puzzlement mixed with compassion. After a sincere  
apology to the two gentlemen, he entered the library, then closed the  
door behind himself.  
  
"I say, Hojo," Professor Gast asked piteously, "What's wrong with  
Lucrecia? I happened to see her running to her room, crying her eyes  
out! Poor girl! You're always so rough with her."  
  
"Bah! You know how sentimental woman are!" Hojo scoffed in a loud  
,contemptuous voice, "Only fit to cry at the slightest upset..especially  
when pregnant!!"  
  
Vincent happened to hear that last remark as he left the loathsome  
library. Though he followed his leader as obediently as any soldier, his  
heart swelled with such unbelievable rage. So much so that his whole  
face, unable to resist the passion any longer, darkened with unforgiving  
hatred.  
  
He wished he had shot Hojo..yes..one clean shot through the head would  
have sufficed...  
  
  
-End of Chp.25

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	23. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

  
  
I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.26  
  
"I don't care what kind of grievance that sour sod has against you,"  
Davoren had ordered gently but firmly, "You are not to go near Professor  
Hojo again, even if he tells you to, understood, Valentine?"  
  
Vincent, of course, obeyed his leader's command without question. Since  
that horrible confrontation, he avoided any contact with the scientists  
unless absolutely necessary. He never returned to the grim library  
below, nor did he even near the scientists' chambers.  
If he chanced to meet Hojo in the hallway, he respectfully made way for  
him to pass without a word. The insolent Professor would glare at the  
Turk top to bottom, then snub past him very arrogantly. Vincent, on the  
other hand, would resume his way down the corridor, pretending nothing  
had happened.  
  
He never saw Lucrecia during those tedious, mundane days. He understood  
how his presence upset her, especially after witnessing that  
embarrassing scene in the library. Therefore, Vincent avoided her in  
particular as best to his abilities. A full week dragged by in which  
neither even dared think of the other: she still slaved below in the  
library, fumbling among test tubes and tissue samples, while he  
performed whatever duty required for the day.  
  
Yet her absence only intensified his heartache instead of softening  
it(even if he always denied it). At times, the agony gnawed at his heart  
so violently, no amount of wandering or patrolling could hope to soothe  
its intensity.  
  
Lucrecia, in his eyes, was exempt from all blame: he had promised he  
would not interfere with her decision, even though a horrible  
presentiment warned him of some unknown danger. Let her do whatever she  
pleased..why grieve her more than he had already done?  
  
He became increasingly withdrawn as the days rolled by, preferring to  
wallow in his own gloomy preoccupations. Vincent would wander hours on  
end in the empty fields of Nibelheim, or simply lounge under a stout  
tree until dusk. Nature surrounded him with every splendor it could  
concoct in hopes of lifting his sunken spirits. Yet his mind found the  
charm of this rustic land quite distasteful: the majestic mountains  
ceased to excite his wonder; the once quaint, winsome village now seemed  
an unbearable prison, especially the Mansion; the endless hills, frilled  
in patches of lush green grass, only irritated him further.  
  
Indeed, the poor, heartbroken man found no solace anywhere to drown his  
aching misery. Despite his vow not to interfere with Lucrecia, Vincent  
always suffered. Nevertheless, he somehow swallowed the pain, and said  
nothing.  
  
Though Davoren noticed (quite keenly) how forlorn Vincent had become,  
he never asked the Turk to share his personal troubles. He was either  
too busy satisfying the scientists' demand, or perhaps he felt it wisest  
not to poke his nose into Vincent's business.  
  
Davoren, however, defended his friend against Professor Hojo's biting  
remarks very fiercely. If the insolent man muttered some comment aimed at  
Vincent, Davoren would answer for the Turk in more sarcastic tone; then  
he'd dryly order the Professor to "not waste anymore time with his petty  
disputes". Hojo never dared argue with the beloved leader of the Turks  
(the President would be quite angry if he did); instead, he would  
retreat quietly away. In short, Davoren made sure Vincent was left  
alone.  
  
And naturally, Vincent was grateful for this man's kindness.  
  
Yet, in truth, Davoren had grown very preoccupied with his own thoughts  
since that horrible confrontation. Although he knew of Lucrecia's  
pregnancy and consent to be a human guinea pig, he never voiced any  
opinion on her decision, at least not to Vincent's knowledge. His mind  
seemed engrossed in an entirely different matter.  
  
Davoren would mysteriously disappear for hours during which no one knew  
where, then emerge again, his face expressing profound solemnity. The  
man often sat alone in the parlor, engrossed in deep meditation; or  
maybe linger by the large stained windows, smoking a cigarette very  
thoughtfully. If Vincent happened to spot his leader in that pensive  
state, the latter would immediately smile and laugh to disperse any  
suspicions.  
  
Yet despite Davoren's reassurances and good-humored denials, an  
ominous suspicion continually pestered Vincent whenever he met his  
leader. So much that he'd inquire, very cautiously, whether an illness,  
or perhaps some trouble, ailed the man. He sensed a dark hidden secret  
behind that friendly face; something he felt he should know of as  
well. But Davoren only shrugged off Vincent's quizzical look with a warm  
smile, then a pat on his friend's back.  
  
"Poppy-cock! You're so used to being gloomy, you think EVERYONE is like  
you," Davoren teased light-heartedly, "I tell you, I'm fine!"  
  
Unfortunately, the nagging suspicion clung to Vincent's mind, insisting  
this man withheld some secret from him. He could have persisted until he  
discovered it, only he had no actual proof Davoren harbored some  
sinister secret. Instinct alone would not suffice.  
  
Maybe he's right, Vincent reflected to himself, maybe I'm just  
imagining things...  
  
One chilly autumn evening, almost two weeks after that library  
incident, Vincent left the Mansion for his usual stroll along the  
village square. A faint orange hue had singed the cloudless sky as the  
day slowly faded into darkness. The wintry breeze howled over the  
cobblestone ground, promising of a cold night very soon.  
  
Through every cottage window, a friendly fire glowed to warm the house  
inside, while a thin trail of grey smoke danced up the chimneys. Vincent  
passed many ruddy, dirty-faced miners returning home with their picks.  
Some tipped their hats respectfully as Vincent passed, others simply  
ignored him, being too exhausted to notice anyone, and quite hungry for  
food. Many a miner stumbled through his doorway, shouting "Dinner!!" at  
the same time. The children were immediately called inside before  
latching the door. Young girls who had been sent to fetch water scurried  
back home, several of them eyeing the passing Turk then giggling  
bashfully amongst themselves. Even the dogs were called in for their  
dinner.  
  
Therefore, in a remarkably short time, the village square emptied  
completely, save for the occasional miner who wandered into the inn for  
a drink. Every door was securely locked; every window firmly shut; and  
all villagers snug inside their warm houses for the night. Not a soul  
dared stir the stillness of the air, except for the cheers of the merry  
guests bustling inside the cozy inn.  
  
Vincent, with both hands thrust deep into his pockets, wandered  
aimlessly about the square for some time until halting at the giant  
well. Leaning his back against the bulky structure, he heaved a heavy  
sigh, then closed his eyes in exhaustion. The cold wind caressed his  
face so soothingly, all sound soon faded into oblivion, even the rowdy  
laughs of the miners inside the inn.  
  
His torn thoughts scattered in all directions, tripping over small  
details or petty observations; he simply let them drift in any direction  
they pleased. Yet no matter what path he perused, or how many twists and  
turns he followed, his mind always returned to the same thought:  
Lucrecia. Always..always..and nothing but Lucrecia.  
  
While he was thus preoccupied, Vincent's eyes happened to stray to the  
far side of the square when he gave a violent start: Lucrecia was  
standing there, looking very timidly at him. He knew not how long she  
had been lingering there, yet judging from her nervous face, guessed it  
to be a long time. She had probably found him brooding by the well, and  
waited patiently for him to notice her. When he finally caught sight of  
her, Lucrecia cringed back a step in spite of herself, as if he intended  
to harm her.  
  
Vincent straightened himself up at once, but dared not advance towards  
her. Instead, he fixed his quizzical eyes on her distressed face,  
wondering internally what purpose had she to wander outside at this late  
hour.  
  
The poor woman hesitated a few minutes before mustering all her courage  
in a resolute sigh. She walked across the cobblestone square, towards  
the silent Turk. On reaching him, she glanced around herself to make  
sure they were out of hearing distance, then looked straight up at  
Vincent. Though her voice sounded reasonably steady, her eyes shone with  
incredible anxiety, almost fear.  
  
"Vincent," she whispered cautiously, "Can I please speak to you for a  
moment? Please, just a moment."  
  
Her pleading tone alarmed him beyond measure. He guessed immediately  
from her eyes something horrible troubled her mind. So, without a second  
thought, he nodded his head in consent: he would speak to her.  
  
Lucrecia looked around herself again, suspicious of some invisible  
eavesdropper lurking in the shadows, then took his hand. Vincent could  
feel her cold hand tremble in his as she led him away from the well and  
through the village gate. The two walked hand in hand for a short  
distance, neither speaking a word, until they finally reached the apple  
orchard.  
  
Snuggled at the very end edge of Nibelheim behind some abandoned  
cottage, this apple orchard had been planted by some lonely gardener  
long ago. Its keeper dead, the unfortunate orchard gradually sunk into  
its present state of negligence. Greedy rust covered whatever remained  
of the iron gate. Patches of red ivy crept all over the stony wall,  
adding to the already ruined atmosphere. A cobblestone path, now hidden  
by tufts of frozen grass, wound around this haunted orchard until it  
reached the doorstep of the cottage.  
  
Dead apple trees, utterly barren of any fruit or leaves, ran along both  
sides of the twisting path. While Time had disfigured some trees beyond  
redemption, most had been spared such a cruel fate. Yet every tree  
beheld its own frozen branches and hardened trunk in silent regret, as  
if mourning the loss of their beauty. Though once every few springs some  
apples would bloom in this abandoned orchard, it remained completely  
desolate through all four seasons.  
  
Lucrecia, still leading the Turk by the hand, followed the winding  
cobblestone path until they reached the heart of the orchard. The dead  
branches of those woeful trees swayed gently in the cold breeze, as if  
welcoming the two visitors to their ruined home. Night slowly fingered  
the orange sky above, adding to the barren trees' destitute appearance.  
Therefore, by the time the two intruders had stopped , most trees had  
been devoured by the darkness. It was very quiet; not even the crows  
dared caw in this ghostly place.  
  
When Lucrecia halted, she released Vincent's hand and took one step  
away from him. The Turk looked around at the dead garden in unconcealed  
wonder: he had, of course, passed this apple orchard many times during  
his lonely strolls along the fields, yet never dared enter it out of  
some vague suspicion. In fact, Vincent had disliked this place on first  
site. He scanned the frozen garden for a full minute before returning  
his attention to Lucrecia. She, on the other hand, fixed her tense eyes  
on his face, battering her brains to begin the conversation. Vincent  
said nothing to disrupt her.  
  
"I know you don't want to talk to me, Vincent," she whispered very  
timidly, "especially after that..that horrible scene in the library with  
Professor Hojo."  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, but Lucrecia shook her head before he  
could utter a word, "Sh! No, please. Don't speak, just listen. Ever  
since that day when I...I told you about my pregnancy..and that I  
decided to be a human guinea pig..I haven't been able to sleep at night.  
I always find myself thinking about you..and what you said to me. I try  
so hard to push you out of my mind by working, but I can't, Vincent. You  
always manage to torture me, someway or another."  
  
Overwhelmed with this surge of emotions, Lucrecia's voice broke down in  
apparent agitation. She stepped away from him, trying her best to avoid  
his quizzical eyes, then stood perfectly still. Vincent, unsure how to  
defend himself against the accusation, fidgeted nervously in his spot.  
His mind struggled to gather all his scattered thoughts.  
  
"I'm very sorry," he apologized in a low voice, "I'm trying my best to  
avoid you. I know you don't really want to see me either," he paused a  
moment to glance at her, then added, "If there were perhaps another way  
I could spare you this pain, then..."  
  
"You can't, Vincent, you can't," she interrupted passionately, looking  
him straight in the eye, "Because it's how you feel inside that's  
torturing me so much! I don't know what to do anymore... your words and  
feelings just hammer me day and night, until I think I'm going crazy!  
And avoiding me won't stop it either, Vincent..it..it won't.."  
  
Vincent stared blankly back at her, completely taken aback by her  
misery. He ran his fingers through his hair, fumbling for some  
comforting word to say, then hung his head in dejection: he did not know  
how to reply. Lucrecia, however, stepped closer to him, and looked very  
tenderly into his troubled face.  
  
"Now please, listen," she pleaded softly, discerning his anxiety, "I've  
told you before, and I'll say it again: this Project means more to me  
than anything else..even my own life. I have to do this if the Project  
is to be successful."  
  
The Turk made no reply.  
  
"I know I'm risking my life, Vincent," she continued more softly, "But  
you must understand how important this whole JENOVA Project is. Yes,  
it's my life's dedication. So please, I beg you, accept what I've done,  
not in words, but in your heart too. When..you were arguing with  
Professor Hojo..I realized that you haven't really accepted what I've  
done."  
  
He still did not answer her.  
  
"If I should suffer for this Project," she concluded, "then I'll accept  
the consequences of my actions for the Project's sake.."  
  
"But, Lucrecia, what about yourself? What about your own happiness? "  
  
Although a simple question, Vincent fixed his eyes on her face as if  
his whole fate depended on her answer. Lucrecia stared back at him a  
moment before she began chafing her slender arms in obvious confusion.  
Her tense eyes refused to look at him. She made no reply, except cough  
softly once or twice.  
  
A strange, unnatural stillness filled the orchard. All of nature, the  
brittle trees included seemed to await her answer.  
  
Vincent's entire face darkened sternly as he watched the poor woman  
hesitate. He narrowed his bright eyes on her beloved face, searching for  
an answer to his burning question. Lucrecia, however, stepped further  
away from him to escape his hard scrutiny.  
  
"Vincent, I just don't know anymore, but I don't want you torturing me  
like this," she beseeched wretchedly, "It's like..it's like I want to do  
something..but then I remember you and get all confused. I..I'm torn,  
Vincent..I don't know what to do... and it's all your fault. So  
please..please, Vincent, accept what I've done."  
  
When Lucrecia had finally finished her pitiful supplication, Vincent  
walked over to her without muttering a word. She dared not retreat from  
him as before, but stood rooted to her spot, anticipating his reaction.  
Vincent stopped directly infront of her and waited for her look up at  
him. His face bore such a hard, stern expression, it startled poor  
Lucrecia to the point of frightful alarm. She realized she had angered  
him.  
  
"I assure you, Lucrecia, I never had any intentions of torturing you in  
my life," he stated in a cool tone, "And I would sooner die than make  
you miserable. If you've chosen this experiment over..," he nearly  
choked out "over me", but instead said, "..over your own life, well, who  
am I to judge you? I promised you I would not interfere, regardless of  
what I think, just as long as you're happy with what you've done. And  
I will keep my promise."  
  
She made no response. Instead, she cast her eyes down in shame. Vincent  
turned slightly away from her as he added, almost viciously, "But that  
will never change my feelings towards you, Lucrecia. I still love you,  
and always will. You most certainly haven't the right to ask me to stop, because I can't."  
  
Another awkward silence followed. The cold wind puffed across the  
cobblestone path, overturning dead leaves and pebbles along the way. The  
pearly moon had besieged the sky long ago, scattering all the tiny stars  
over its black domain. It was quite dark.  
  
Neither breathed a word during this time. Vincent's eyes riveted on her  
troubled face, bore straight into her very soul. Lucrecia continuously  
dodged his look as suppressed tears welled up in her eyes. Soon, her  
cheeks flushed in unmistakable agitation. Therefore, believing the Turk  
had nothing more to say to her, she turned around to leave.  
  
However, Vincent quickly gripped her trembling hand and pulled it back  
to him before she could even take a step. He pressed her hand against  
his chest with both hands so tightly, she could feel his heartbeat.  
Though a tender look had replaced his previously hard expression, he  
still retained that same painful gleam in his eyes.  
  
Lucrecia could only stare back at him in wonder. She said nothing.  
  
"Damn it, Lucrecia," he cursed under his breath, studying her face more  
intently, "I can't stand to see you cry, let alone suffer like this. And  
I have this nagging, horrible presentiment that you'll come to some harm  
because of this Project. I want to protect you from whatever this threat  
is..sacrifice anything I must to keep you safe..even..even if you  
obviously don't return my affections."  
  
He felt her wriggle her hand in his firm grip, yet continued as softly  
as before, "You can tell me you're happy, and I'll believe you. Tell me  
I make you feel miserable, and I'll go away. But you can't erase this  
bad feeling from my heart, Lucrecia..it won't go away, not as long as  
you..."  
  
But Vincent stopped short when he noticed Lucrecia give a violent start  
and stare, absolutely horrified, at something behind him. He slowly  
turned his head around to see what had frightened the poor woman. Much  
to his alarm, he found Davoren standing a few yards away, with both his  
arms folded loose across his chest.  
  
Vincent was dumbstruck.  
  
-End of Chp.26Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	24. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.27

Neither Vincent nor Lucrecia had even heard that man creep up  
from behind and watch them during their fervent conversation. Vincent  
dared not guess how much Davoren had heard, or what thoughts ran through  
his mind at that moment. Hundreds of fears tumbled inside Vincent's  
stunned mind as he searched Davoren's face for any hint of his reaction.

Yet the man bore such an unnaturally cold visage, totally  
contrary to his usual friendly nature, Vincent soon gave up the attempt.  
He stood rooted to his spot, awkwardly fumbling in the silence.

Lucrecia immediately slipped her hand out of Vincent's grip  
before retreating a few steps. She hid both her trembling hands behind  
her back, as if hiding the evidence of some heinous crime. She too  
stared intently at the leader of the Turks, trying her best to read his  
mind yet appear calm at the same time.

At least one minute of embarrassing silence passed in which no  
one muttered a word. Even the wind had ceased blowing, not daring to  
disturb this heavy stillness. Both visitors fixed their anxious eyes on  
the unexpected intruder. Davoren, however, merely lighted a cigarette  
for himself in the most natural manner. He seemed to find this secret  
"rendezvous" quite normal.

Unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, Vincent  
decided to leave before matters grew any worse.

"Ah..pardon me, Sir..," he mumbled confusedly as he walked past  
his silent leader. Vincent ,without looking back once, marched away from  
the two. But Davoren paid no head to the Turk at all. His whole  
attention, in fact, was rigidly fixed on Lucrecia. The woman only  
fidgeted in her spot, blushing in genuine embarrassment at the  
intrusion. He had obviously come for her with a definite purpose.

"Ms. Lucrecia," addressed Davoren after puffing out a cloud of  
white smoke, "I don't claim to be an ardent scientist like yourself or  
your prestigious colleagues. Nor have I the privilege of knowing you  
as... intimately as Mr. Valentine does."

Vincent halted abruptly on hearing his leader's strange, cold  
tone, then turned around to face the men again. However, Davoren kept  
his back to the Turk, as though unaware of his presence. His entire  
focus stubbornly insisted on Lucrecia infront of him.

"What you decide to do to yourself is truly your own  
business," Davoren continued coolly, "..just as long as you scientists  
do your job."

"Y..yes, Mr.Davoren, Sir..," agreed Lucrecia, sounding very  
confused.

"Yes, indeed, Ms. Lucrecia. You scientists are allowed to do  
WHATEVER you want, experimenting on anything that tickles your  
fantasy. And as good Turks, hired by the illustrious President ShinRa,  
we must step aside..no, we must MAKE SURE you carry out your little  
tests."

"Davoren..Sir..," Vincent interjected cautiously as he took a  
step near his leader. A grave sense of danger warned him of some brutal  
confrontation.

Davoren, enraged at the interruption, only gave the Turk one  
sharp look over his own shoulder to silence him. Vincent stopped again,  
absolutely stunned by the malice in the man's eyes. His mind argued that  
either a demon had possessed Davoren, or the man had simply taken leave  
of his senses.

When Vincent had thus been effectively silenced, Davoren turned  
again to the trembling Lucrecia. He took another whiff at his cigarette,  
then resumed with a stronger, venomous tone, "You discover this amazing  
'alien lifeform'..something so different from all other creatures and,  
of course, are so eager to discover how to use it to Mr.ShinRa's  
advantage. Everything else becomes insignificant, including life...human  
life."

Vincent's muscles tensed at the unexpected mention of JENOVA.  
During his entire friendship with Davoren, he had never once heard the  
man express any interest in science, let alone such meticulous research  
like the JENOVA Project.

His anxious eyes immediately darted over to Lucrecia. Though  
she was shaking under Davoren's hostile scrutiny, her face maintained a  
very resolute look.

"Yes, Ms.Lucrecia," Davoren sneered, dropping his voice  
suddenly, "even the life of your own child doesn't matter when it comes  
to this little experiment of yours."

"What right have you to chastise my job, Mr.Davoren?" the woman  
retorted softly but quite firmly, "My decisions and choices are of no  
one's concern...not yours..," she glanced at Vincent, then concluded,  
"..or anyone else's."

"You're right, it isn't. To be honest, I don't care a fig what  
you scientists do to your own lives."

Davoren puffed his cigarette as his fiery eyes narrowed keenly  
on the woman infront of him. He paid no attention to Vincent, who still  
lingered some steps behind him. The poor Turk remained quiet, unsure how  
to stop this madness.

"It's none of my business, yes, very true," agreed the angry  
man after an awkward pause, "But I ask you, Miss, what business is it of  
yours to experiment on a little child as though it were some filthy  
laboratory animal?!"

For a full minute, nobody spoke a word.

The silence crept through the dead apple orchard, shushing any  
rustling leaf or insensitive insect brave enough to disobey its command.  
Both Davoren and Lucrecia stared intently at each other, while poor  
Vincent fidgeted some distance behind his leader, almost ignored. His  
eyes hesitated between the two, wondering where to find an explanation  
to this mystery.

Davoren suddenly advanced towards the silent woman, reaching  
for something inside his coat. He flung a bundle of loose papers onto  
the frozen ground, then scattered them about with a contemptuous scuffle  
of his foot.

"I've been doing a little...'research' into your experiment,  
Ms.Lucrecia, since I had the misfortune of witnessing that scene in the  
library," Davoren growled through a white puff of smoke, "I found so  
many details so new to me. I'm sure this Project will go under the  
"strictly confidential" files, especially that part about the JENOVA  
cells."

Nobody spoke a word.

"And I also read a bit of your colleagues' report," the man  
explained more viciously, "Very interesting that bit about testing the  
effects of JENOVA on an unborn fetus. According to the Hojo's theory  
here, you could create a whole new breed of super-humans with that gunk!"

Another heavy silence followed.

Vincent was thunderstruck on finally understanding the truth:  
Lucrecia was not the guinea pig at all, her child was! And for what? For  
some "experiment" of Hojo's??

"L..Lucrecia," Vincent faltered, taking one step forward,  
"..you..had a child..just to..experiment on its body??"

She silently implored him to stop by looking at him. However,  
he only knit his brows in anger as he demanded, "Answer me already!!  
What exactly did Hojo DO to you?!!"

"It's part of the experiment," she answered meekly as she edged  
away from the two men, "..to..to test the effects of the JENOVA cells on  
developing human tissue..a..a child.."

"And..he.."

"Yes..yes, Hojo..he injected a dose of those cells into my  
womb.."

Vincent listened to her in horror, yet could not make any sense  
of her words. Her did not need to. He saw everything so clearly now: her  
pregnancy had been part of an experiment of Hojo's. That was all!

"Goddamn it, woman!!" thundered Davoren all of a sudden,  
flinging his cigarette away, "Aren't you a mother?! Doesn't your heart  
ache when you see what you've done?! You're letting that bastard  
experiment on your own CHILD!!"

"I have accepted the consequences, Mr.Davoren," she replied  
coolly.

Davoren stared back at her in disbelief, absolutely shocked  
with her calm answer. Her hands still quivered in spite of her every  
effort to stop, yet never had either man heard her sound so firm.

Vincent hesitated a moment before asking, very softly,  
"Lucrecia, you know as well as I do what those cells can do to human  
tissue. The child could maybe survive, but what about you? It..it could  
poison your body."

Lucrecia, however, turned her face away in anguish. She could  
not reply to that simple comment.

The agonizing silence felt as though it would stretch for  
eternity. Vincent stood rooted to his same spot, intently staring at the  
silent Lucrecia. Similarly, Davoren kept his keen eyes riveted on the  
unfortunate woman. Yet while Vincent's whole countenance betrayed every  
sign of trouble and genuine distress, the leader of the Turks expressed  
nothing but contempt, if not burning anger, for Lucrecia. He had not  
liked her simple answer at all.

"When I had first joined ShinRa Inc., you could not believe how  
blind I was," Davoren recounted, interrupting the stuffy stillness all  
of a sudden, "All that ever mattered to me was getting money for my  
brother. All that ever mattered to me was protecting and helping him in  
any form I could. But when..when I lost him..when he disappeared without  
a trace, that made me see one truth that had been right under my nose."

Vincent, feeling a strange discomfort prickle his heart, slowly  
reached for his gun, but did not pull it out. Davoren took no heed of  
him.

"Do you want to know what truth I discovered, Miss?" the man  
continued through grit teeth. He took one menacing step towards her,  
then roared at the top of his lungs, "I discovered that ShinRa Inc.  
treats EVERY human life like some damn toy!! That vulgar toad we call  
'Mr. President' only abuses life, then throws it away when it's not  
useful anymore. To this company, money, results, and power is WAY more  
important than life..any life! My brother was a loyal Turk, but what  
happened when he disappeared? He was forgotten and replaced. Why?  
Because the President did not want to waste any more precious gils in  
search of him: he simply was not useful anymore!"

Lucrecia retreated two steps, but stopped short on realizing  
she had been cornered against a frozen tree. The frightened woman  
pressed her back against the tough bark of the tree, desperately trying  
maintain a calm, resolute face. She said nothing.

Being behind Davoren, Vincent could not see the man's face. Nor  
had he any need to: Davoren's cold, bitter tone alone warned the Turk  
his leader had somehow "lost his sanity". Vincent quietly unholstered  
the gun while keeping his sharp eyes on Davoren's back. He listened very  
intently as the man spoke again.

"And what about that incident in the Reactor?" recalled  
Davoren, still ignoring the Turk behind him, "Our beloved President bids  
us go slaughter some misguided beggars in a Reactor just to make him  
richer. And you scientists are no better! You rot in your laboratories,  
trying to play God with any life your grubby hands can touch. And now,  
this! You go play with a child's life..A CHILD'S LIFE, Ms. Lucrecia! And  
your own, no less!!"

"Don't you dare stand there and judge me, Sir!" answered  
Lucrecia with a soft but firm voice. She still kept her back glued to  
the tree, as though it could somehow shield her from that man. Davoren  
listened to her with a most scornful look on his face.

"What I feel never mattered!" she continued, "If I have chosen  
to sacrifice everything I possess for this experiment, then so be it! I  
will not be lectured by anyone! Especially a Turk!"

Neither man interrupted her. Instead, they both studied her  
beautiful, troubled face in silence. Vincent fingered his gun without  
pulling it out. Davoren, on the other hand, seemed completely absorbed  
in what the woman had to say.

"If anyone plays with life, it's the likes of you and Vincent,"  
Lucrecia accused, growing firmer with every word, "I know..what kind of  
dirty work you Turks do. I've even seen some of it too. But I'm doing  
this to help the Project, whether you agree or not, and then..."

However, Davoren cut her short by suddenly pulling out his own  
gun and aiming it straight at Lucrecia's head. Poor Lucrecia stared,  
completely dumbfounded, at the muzzle of the gun, then at Davoren's  
unnaturally cold face. All words failed her. She could only tremble in  
horror.

It seemed Davoren had, indeed, lost all patience along with his  
sanity.

"I won't deny I too have played with human life, Ms.Lucrecia,"  
Davoren replied very calmly, "It would be wrong of me to contradict you.  
But I always, ALWAYS, respected the sacredness of human life as a  
whole."

Lucrecia's breathing grew increasingly faster as she noticed  
Davoren's finger twitch on the trigger. He kept his gun firmly riveted  
on her head. Nothing could deter him from her.

"And it turns my stomach, Ms.Lucrecia," he concluded  
maliciously, "to know I'm here, taking part in this experiment, by  
letting wannabe-gods like you scientists treat lives...children's lives  
like garbage!! It just plain disgusts me!!!"

Both Lucrecia and Davoren stared intently at each other,  
seeming to expect the other to act or say something. Yet so great was  
the poor woman's terror, she could not find enough strength to speak  
against Davoren's gun; and what would be the use? He had, quite  
obviously, lost his mind! Her entire body, especially her hands,  
quivered with unimaginable fear. The madman narrowed his eyes on her  
pale face, then cocked the gun once.

Neither spoke a word until Vincent's firm voice suddenly  
ordered, "Davoren, drop the gun."

Davoren turned his head slightly around on hearing the voice,  
yet still kept his gun rigidly aimed at Lucrecia. Indeed, the man had  
been totally oblivious to Vincent's presence until then. During the  
entire final discourse, Vincent had kept his own gun cautiously lowered  
but quiet near. He had been, of course, extremely alarmed when Davoren  
had pulled out his gun and aimed it at Lucrecia. Yet that loud cock of  
his weapon confirmed the Turk's fear: Davoren intended to kill her.

Therefore, without a second thought, Vincent had pulled out his  
gun and aimed it directly at his leader's head. He dared not imagine  
what he would actually do if Davoren refused to obey his command; he  
himself scarcely understood what he was doing. All he knew was that his  
friend had lost his mind (how else could he possibly express it?) and  
that Lucrecia was about to be harmed.

"I said drop the gun, Davoren!" Vincent repeated, emphasizing  
every syllable more firmly.

Davoren studied the Turk's cold face for another minute before  
returning again to Lucrecia, who still trembled infront of him. His  
shiny black gun shimmered in the pale moonlight, bluntly refusing to  
change its target. Nor did Vincent waver either: he kept his gun firmly  
fixed on the back of the man's head.

But would he actually pull the trigger?

"Davoren, please," Vincent implored in a low voice, "I..I don't  
want to shoot you."

Lucrecia had clasped both hands over her breast in a vain  
effort to calm herself. Yet for all her vigorous attempts, her heart  
refused to stop pounding. She stared, eyes wide open, at the insane man  
before her without even crying out.

When a full minute had elapsed, Davoren began laughing softly  
to himself. He did not lower his gun.

"Yes, Vincent," he addressed the Turk, though he still kept his  
eyes as well as his gun fixed on Lucrecia, "Yes..and you probably will  
shoot me too. Ah, the perfect Turk is the one who can kill ANYONE on the  
spur of the moment..the one without anything even resembling a  
conscience to hinder him. Heh, just the type the President wants: the  
type who murders, threatens, and obeys without question."

Davoren glanced behind his back to look at the Turk, then added  
viciously, "Feh, a monster in human form...that's all you are, that's  
all you'll EVER be."

Though Vincent felt his heart pound loudly as the man finished,  
his mind seemed quiet cool and collected. He stared back at his bitter  
leader with a stoic expression on his cold face. For the first time in  
his life, the gun felt slightly awkward in his feverish hands.

I can't shoot him, Vincent repeated internally at least a  
thousand times, I can't shoot him...this man is my best friend..I can't  
shoot him...

But my duty IS to protest these scientists..it's to protect  
Lucrecia from any danger. And even if it wasn't, I still would protect  
her! So, if I must shoot..then..then I...

Thus stood the two men, completely absorbed by the silence,  
while poor Lucrecia trembled against the dead tree. She could not speak.  
Another moment passed.

Suddenly, Davoren turned to Lucrecia again and reached for the  
trigger.

Vincent only heard one, single shot ring out across the lonely  
orchard. All was silent again.

He saw Davoren stumble forward, a wild gush of dark blood  
sprouting out the back of his head. He saw his leader crash onto the  
cobblestone pathway right at Lucrecia's feet. The thick red fluid flowed  
out until Davoren's whole head lay soaked in a puddle of blood. The man  
lay head down on the stony ground, both arms pitifully outstretched  
infront of his bloody head. His dreadful black gun had been rudely  
discarded a few yards away. It too was stained in his blood. Davoren did  
not move.

Vincent had shot him without even realizing it.

Lucrecia gazed, completely horror-stricken, at the bloody  
corpse lying at her feet. After a moment, she looked up at Vincent in  
disbelief, yet could not open her mouth. The Turk studied her shocked  
face for perhaps two minutes, then back at the dead body. He did not  
speak either.

Strange to say, he felt no guilt or remorse.

Vincent was sure Lucrecia screamed at that moment, even though  
he could not hear anymore. Yet he remembered clearly hearing a rush of  
footsteps storming into the abandoned orchard. there seemed to be  
several people at the scene all of a sudden: those were the villagers.  
He also recalled some men rush over to Davoren and examine his corpse  
while some others carried Lucrecia away (who was hysterical by that  
time). He felt many hands roughly grab him at once, and the strange  
words "Murder! Murder!" ring in his ears.

Some evil, malevolent feeling crept up from behind him, yet he  
could not muster enough strength to resist it.

Without warning, two icy-cold hands dug deep into his chest and  
began tearing his lungs to shreds. Vincent struggled wildly to break  
loose, to cry for help, to escape this mysterious attacker. But the more  
he wrestled this attack, the more painful his ordeal grew. Hot blood  
gargled up his throat as his whole chest heaved in pain. His head swam  
around and around.

He could not breathe anymore. Strange, unfamiliar voices  
screamed through his ears until insanity broke through. He thought his  
lungs would explode any moment. He felt something pull him away..and  
away...far away...

Suddenly, Vincent woke up from his nightmare in the middle of  
violent coughing fit. He had been re-living his past: all of that  
madness had happened thirty-one years ago.

He was back in the present now.

-End of Chp.27

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	25. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.28

Vincent thought the coughing fit would never end.

He sprang up in some unknown bed, choking wildly over his hot blood.  
With one hand pressed over his mouth, the sick man bent double over  
himself in hopes of perhaps easing the pain. Yet the attack would not  
spare him: it sunk its sharp claws deeper and deeper into his lungs  
until he began hacking on his own blood. He could not breathe at all.

His whole trembling body burned with fever. His head, in particular,  
throbbed in torturous agony. He could not hear or see anything. Nor  
could he remember where he was now or why he had been brought here. A  
black mist had completely engulfed his senses, letting him grope through  
the maddening darkness alone.

The coughing fit grew considerably worse.

Those ghostly voices from his nightmare still taunted his battered  
ears as the seizure ravaged his fragile body. He coughed until the blood  
soaked his hand. He squeezed his burning eyes shut, trying desperately  
to manage just a whiff of air as the fit tore his whole chest apart. The  
murderous fever raged through his shaking limbs like wild fire. Delirium  
had torn his mind to shreds.

He thought he should cry out, but the unmerciful fit had even robbed  
his voice. He could not speak, only cough and splutter over his blood.

Indeed, the torture felt as though it would last forever.

However, the brutal attack eased slightly when Vincent felt something  
cold and wet caress his burning face. He still sat slouched up in bed,  
unable to see yet quite aware of the strange touch on his face. It felt  
so gentle, so soothing on his hot, sweaty face.

The cruel coughing fit, realizing it had lost the battle, resentfully  
faded into oblivion. Vincent placed his hand over his heaving chest as  
his torn lungs filled with precious air. He took several gasps at once,  
afraid the murderous fit might return. He still could not see.

As the pain slowly evaporated, Vincent became increasingly aware of the  
presence of another person near him. At first, it was nothing but a  
vague presence around him, shapeless and part of the darkness. Yet as  
his scattered senses gradually returned, Vincent could hear a soft voice  
whispering something into his numb ears.

The voice sounded terribly muffled to him at the beginning, but steadily  
became clearer until he realized it was a girl's voice. Unfortunately,  
he could not remember whose.

A very gentle hand stroked his hair and feverish face for a moment,  
while the soft voice repeated a word into his ears. Vincent then felt  
somebody laid his aching head on the pillow again. A thick blanket was  
pulled over him with tender care, and that same gentle hand returned to  
his face, pressing his forehead every so often.

When some of his sight returned at last, Vincent found himself lying  
flat on his back in some warm bed. Several blankets, including one thick  
quilt, covered his shaking body. He did not recognize this bed at all.  
He looked around without moving his head: nothing but a stuffy darkness  
dominated the small room. Everything to his weary eyes lay dismally  
hidden in the shadows.

Vincent, completely ravaged by delirium, looked up at some black figure  
lingering over him. He had to fumble with his muddled senses another  
minute or so before the mysterious figure actually took shape. It  
appeared to be a very young woman, with bright green eyes intently set  
on him. Her brown hair was let loose, so that it flowed in noticeably  
thick curls behind her back and over her shoulders. Vincent noted mostly  
how frightened and anxious the girl appeared.

He did not recognize her either.

Yet strangely, Vincent could not tear his burning eyes away from her  
pale face. Indeed, he beheld her as some ghost there to visit him. The  
girl leaned further down so that only a few inches lay between her face  
and his. She stared intently at him, scrutinizing every detail her eyes  
came across, then whispered that same word one more time.

Vincent finally realized she had been calling his name.

Slowly, he lifted his trembling hand to her face with great effort. She  
did not flinch or move away when his hot hand touched her cold cheek.  
Instead, she let him caress her cheek as long as he pleased without  
speaking another word.

"Ah..," Vincent grunted softly, remembering the girl at last,  
"A..Aeris..."

"So, you finally recognized me," Aeris smiled happily. A very relived  
look replaced that previously anxious one.

He looked around himself without removing his trembling hand from her  
cheek. The room was pitch black.

"Wh..where am I?" he whispered in confusion.

"Sh...sh..you're in bed at home," the girl reassured tenderly, "You  
were just having a nightmare, Vincent. It was all just a nightmare. Now  
go back to sleep."

He stared back at her in complete disbelief, caressing her soft cheek  
with his burning hand to confirm his blurry sight. His wild eyes darted  
all over the black room: yes, he was definitely in his own bed, back at  
home.

For one full minute, he was totally silent.

Suddenly, Vincent yanked his hand away from Aeris' face as if struck by  
lightning. The girl, puzzled by his strange behavior, drew herself away  
from him. She sat perfectly still on a chair by his bed, and watched him  
fumble in silence.

Vincent, beside himself with delirium, grabbed a strand of his hair and  
beheld it in absolute amazement: how long it was now! And how thick! It  
seemed much shorter just minutes ago.

With amazing effort, the man pulled out his metallic arm from under the  
covers and held it infront of his sickly face. He studied the long,  
sharp claws; the curved strips of metal which collectively formed his  
palm and wrist. Where had this horrible arm been moments ago? Just a  
short time ago, he had an ordinary arm like any other.

Yet he had forgotten this arm had been there for thirty-one long,  
miserable years.

After another minute of intense scrutiny, Vincent dropped his metallic  
claw onto his chest without a word. His memory instantly flowed back to  
his confused mind: he had merely been re-living.. re-performing his past  
without even realizing it. The Turks, Davoren, ShinRa and Lucrecia. All  
that madness finished thirty-one years ago. He was trapped in the  
present time now.

"You still have a very bad fever," Aeris finally said, felling his  
burning forehead again, "Would you like a drink of water?"

"Yes."

He managed to sit up on his elbows while the girl filled a tall glass  
with cool water. Vincent greedily guzzled it down in one gulp, then sank  
back into his pillow, completely drained of strength.

"At least you've stopped raving now," comforted the girl as she covered  
him with the blankets, "Maybe now, you can get some sleep. Let me just  
wash your face one more time, okay?"

Vincent watched her soak a small towel into a basin of water placed by  
his bedside, then wipe his whole face very carefully. The girl leaned  
over him so closely, he could scrutinize every detail of her lovely  
face. She wore a loose sleeping gown with a long cream-colored shawl  
over her slender arms. He noticed (very keenly) how careworn and  
fatigued she seemed, even though her green eyes still retained their  
same brightness. Whenever her fingertips touched his feverish skin, his  
entire body shivered involuntarily: she was so cold.

Neither spoke a word during this time. The girl tenderly wiped his face  
for about fifteen minutes without once looking into his eyes. Too tired  
to speak, Vincent contented himself by watching her in silence.

When Aeris had finally finished, he immediately turned his back to her,  
burying most of his face into the soft pillow. Never had exhaustion  
ever overpowered his body so completely. His weary eyes grew steadily  
heavy until they shut of their own accord.

Though his back turned and both eyes firmly closed, Vincent could  
detect every movement of Aeris' body with no difficulty. He heard her  
shuffle out of her chair, then sit by him on the cozy bed. Aeris ran her  
fingers through his thick hair once or twice before she touched his  
cheek lightly to check his temperature. He did not flinch a muscle.

After another silent moment, Aeris snuggled up against his back, but  
kept her feet off the bed. She nestled her head against his shoulder,  
trying her best not disturb his precious sleep, then lay perfectly  
still. She seemed to have fallen asleep.

Vincent made no effort to remove her. On the contrary, her presence so  
near to him filled his weary heart with strange comfort.

Neither spoke a word for a long time. Darkness enshrouded the bedroom,  
allowing only the smallest tint of light to smuggle through the  
curtains. Silence in all its power ruled this room supreme, save for the  
monotonous tick-tock of the clock by the bedside. Vincent never moved  
once for fear of disrupting the peaceful stillness. Most of his ashen,  
wasted face lay hidden in the soft pillow, while his body trembled every  
so often with sickening fever. Aeris nestled herself further against his  
back, but still kept her weary head rested on his shoulder.

"Aeris?" Vincent called softly without moving a muscle.

She only lifted her head from his shoulder as an answer.

"How long..have I been sick like this?"

Aeris rested her chin against his shoulder so that she could see part  
of his face from the side. She replied, very wearily, "About a week."

Vincent slowly re-opened his crimson eyes with a low "hmm", and was  
silent again.

"You've had this horrible fever for about a week now," the girl  
whispered without lifting her head, "At first, you were totally  
unconscious for almost four days. And you..you coughed out a lot of  
blood too. But during the last three days, you've been raving like  
crazy...sometimes for six, seven hours non-stop."

Aeris carefully sat up again, yet kept her body snuggled against  
Vincent's back. He felt her shiver slightly, then tighten her shawl  
around her shoulders.

"Yesterday was the worse day. You were so delirious, you were  
practically screaming," she continued, "And..and I..we all got so  
frightened, we didn't know what to do anymore. You wouldn't stop raving,  
and clutching your head; and the fever just grew worse no matter what we  
did. I was so sure you'd die before the night was through...but Cloud  
swore he wouldn't let you die yet. So he.. he filled the bathtub with  
water, dragged you all the way to the bathroom, then dunked your whole  
body into the tub to cool you."

Vincent turned his face slightly around to look at her, but made no  
comment on the crude method of battling the fever. Aeris glanced at him  
a minute, then fingered her shawl very uneasily.

"Tifa was pretty angry, and nearly kicked Cloud outside," she recounted  
more softly than before, "She thought he intended to drown you. The  
fever went down a short while later, but you still raved on and on, and  
didn't recognize anyone, even though your eyes were wide open.

Vincent certainly did not remember any of that. Indeed, his whole mind  
had been so absorbed in that nightmarish flashback, reality.. this  
reality had been completely forgotten behind.

He studied her tired but beautiful face another minute or so, then  
buried his feverish face in the pillow once more. Aeris stayed nestled  
against his back, her bare feet and shoulders shivering occasionally  
from the cold. She fingered her light shawl in silence.

"Aeris?" Vincent called again. He did not look at her.

"Yes?" she immediately replied.

"How long have you watching over me?"

The girl hesitated a moment, then answered, "I can't remember  
exactly...maybe a day and a half."

"That's a very long time. You could make yourself ill if you go on like  
this."

"Oh, I don't mind..it..it's okay..really."

"What time is it now?"

"Um..," she mumbled as she checked the clock by the bed, "It's almost  
two a.m."

Much to her puzzlement, Vincent shifted around, the forced himself to  
sit up in bed. He sat slightly bent forward, so that their faces were  
quite close. His black hair, disheveled beyond hope, tumbled around his  
head and well over his shoulders. His pale face lay hidden in the  
darkness, yet his ruby-red eyes glowed keenly as they studied the girl's  
face and slender figure. He said nothing for a long time. All his  
attention riveted itself on her.

Aeris, alarmed at his strange silence, looked back at him in confusion,  
but dared not open her mouth. She humbly let his blood-shot eyes wander  
over her as long as they pleased. Although she could barely make out his  
face in the darkness, Aeris was quite sure no detail of her face, no  
movement of her body, could escape Vincent's notice. Therefore, she sat  
still on the bed, fidgeting slightly under his sharp scrutiny.

"You look very tired," Vincent whispered at last.

"Ah..th..that's because I haven't slept that much," she faltered in a  
low, nervous voice.

"I thought Cloud and Tifa were here too."

"Yes, they are, but they're sleeping in the living room. They both took  
care of you..much better than I could ever. Tifa always knew what to do,  
and which medicine to give you. She didn't panic as much as I did when  
the fever got too bad like yesterday. Actually, she did most of the  
work..."

Aeris paused when she noticed Vincent's piercing red eyes still fixed  
on her, then continued softly, "But Cloud did a lot of work too, you  
know. He cleaned the bathroom after you..puked in it that other night,  
the blood and everything else. He always brought clean water and got the  
medicines you needed. Also don't forget, he's the one who stopped the  
fever. Only sometimes, he'd get really angry because you weren't getting  
better."

Vincent silently listened to her, watching her all the while intently.  
He leaned further to scrutinize her beautiful face more closely, yet  
said nothing. Though Aeris tensed in her spot on being so keenly  
studied, she did not edge away.

"To tell the truth," she concluded, casting her green eyes down to the  
black ground, "Tifa was supposed to be sitting up with you from midnight  
until five o'clock. She told me to wake her up after my shift was done.  
But I just couldn't do it. She looked so tired, I thought it plain cruel  
to wake her: she deserved some decent rest after all her work. So, I  
took her shift too."

She hesitated a moment, then added, almost inaudibly, "And  
besides..I..I just wanted to be with you."

Another silence, more noticeable than the first, filled every corner of  
the dark room. Vincent gazed thoughtfully at the timid girl infront of  
him, then down at his sharp, metallic claw. Aeris, on the other hand,  
looked at him from the corner of her eye. She tried her best to see his  
actual face. Unfortunately, the room was so dark, the girl could barely  
make out the outline of his face.

The distant chimes of some bell-tower far away signaled the arrival of  
the second hour after midnight. Both Vincent and Aeris listened  
attentively to the bell disturb the peaceful night, then fall silent  
again. Neither spoke a word until Vincent suddenly touched her hand  
very lightly. Though startled by the unexpected, hot touch, Aeris did  
not draw her hand away.

"You're very cold," he remarked in a soft undertone.

"It's because you still have a fever. Your hand is very, very hot, so  
you think I'm cold."

But Vincent, of course, knew she was lying. He had noticed, even felt,  
her shiver several times, despite the shawl around her slender arms. He  
frowned disapprovingly.

"I want you to go get some rest now, Aeris," he ordered gently, pulling  
away his burning hand, "You're too tired to sit up any longer, and could  
make yourself ill if you don't rest properly."

"Ah, no, I can't do that!" Aeris protested fervently, " You still have  
that fever, Vincent, and it may get worse if I don't wash your face  
every hour. No, don't worry about me. Just please, please, go back to  
sleep."

He beheld her tired, pleading face in silence. She would obviously  
fight fatigue, sleep, and even possible illness just for his sake. She  
seemed to think her health quite insignificant compared to his own.

Vincent, however, thought otherwise.

Therefore, without another word, he tore off the thick blankets, and  
made room for another person. Much to Aeris' shock, Vincent slipped his  
metallic arm around her supple waist, then slowly pulled her into bed  
with him, discarding her useless shawl onto the floor. despite her weak  
protests, he covered her snugly with all the warm blankets before  
settling down beside her.

An extremely awkward silence followed.

Vincent slowly turned his back to the bashful girl, and was perfectly  
still in his new place. Aeris, embarrassed by this unexpected intimacy,  
covered most of her blushing face except for her eyes. Her hands  
trembled slightly as she glanced askance at the man by her side. yet  
Vincent took no heed of her at all. His back faced her completely, with  
the blankets hiding most of his head. He did not speak to her.

Aeris immediately turned her back to him as well, but voiced no more  
protests. Exhaustion had overwrought her entire body so completely, and  
this soft bed warmed her cold limbs so wonderfully; she couldn't have  
moved a muscle even if she had wanted to. In truth, she was tired far  
more than realized.

The girl buried one side of her face into the pillow, snuggling  
further under the warm blankets. Her weary eyes drifted aimlessly along  
the black room, stumbling across shapeless shadows, until they closed  
from exhaustion.

Thus, the two lay together, each facing the other's back, for a long  
time. Aeris rested on her side, listening to the peaceful silence.  
Vincent did not move, except perhaps cough whenever his chest heaved, or  
when the fever gnawed at his burning body.

"Vincent?" called Aeris hesitantly.

He mumbled a tired "hm" as a reply, but did not turn to her.

"Do you remember any of the things you raved about?"

Vincent, whose eyes had been shut up to then, mechanically re-opened  
them. He thought a minute before answering, "Not really. what did I rave  
about?"

"Oh, I don't know; mostly things that didn't make sense. You.. raved  
about ShinRa, sometimes about Professor Hojo or some 'experiment'. You  
also raved quite a bit about an apple orchard, and about that..that  
man..Davoren."

He listened to her in silence.

"But most of the time, you raved about a woman named Lucrecia," Aeris  
continued in a hushed whisper, "At times, it seemed you were talking to  
somebody, like you could actually hear voices. Other times, you just  
raved on and on about strange things I couldn't understand. I wished I  
could help you..I wanted to so badly, it sometimes made me cry. And I  
tried my best..but..but I.."

Vincent wearily placed one arm under his head as his metallic claw drew  
itself across his heaving chest. He did not speak for a long while.

"What did you do?" he asked all of a sudden.

"Mm?"

"When I was raving...how did you try to help me?"

Aeris hesitated, afraid to answer his simple question, then finally  
faltered, "you..you wouldn't stop raving..day and night, and coughed out  
so much blood. You'd tear your hair, and call yourself a monster over  
and over again. I couldn't do much, even though I would have given  
anything to help you. So I'd..hold your hand...just hold it..and whisper  
in your ear. Anything that came to my mind, I said it."

"Like what?"

"Ah..I told you how much we all wanted you to get better, because  
everyone was worried sick about you. If I was alone with you in the  
room, I'd hum a song into your ears," Aeris paused before concluding  
softly, "Or sometimes, I just kept on repeating your name, hoping  
somehow, somewhere in your nightmares, you'd hear me."

fatigued beyond measure, Vincent closed his weary eyes again, then  
nestled his head further into his hot arm. Besides an occasional cough,  
he lay perfectly still, with his back turned to the girl.

"I don't remember," he stated monotonously.

"That's okay. It was all nonsense anyway."

"No, it wasn't," Vincent defended, his voice softening with every word,  
"It was your voice calling my name that pulled me out of the nightmare,  
Aeris."

The girl made no response in recognition of his gratitude, except  
tighten the cozy blanket around her cold body. Nor did Vincent pursue an  
answer. He lay quietly in his spot, letting his dull senses wallow in  
the tranquility.

Silence, ruler of the black room once again, hushed all sounds in its  
domain. Nothing dared challenge its tyrannical authority until Aeris  
suddenly and noisily shifted around. she lay flat on her back, with both  
hands firmly clasped on her breast. She stared at the black ceiling  
above, her heart struggling against some violent, inner emotion.

"As long as..as I can remember, the Professor has been torturing me,"  
Aeris faltered in a low, quivering whisper, "He loved to..do all these  
'tests'..that hurt me so much. I never knew what he did exactly. He  
usually drugged me, or just let me faint if the test became too painful.  
And I always..always heard his voice hissing in my ears non-stop. I  
couldn't even cry out because my limbs ached so much..."

Though Vincent did not answer, he opened his red eyes as she faltered  
in her story. He listened most attentively than before: her strange tone  
had drawn his full attention.

Aeris glanced at his back, then resumed, keeping her bright eyes fixed  
on the black ceiling, "One night..the Professor left me in the  
lab,but..but forgot to lock the door. I stared for maybe five whole  
minutes at the door. N..next thing I know, I was running outside. I just  
wanted to escape."

Vincent made no answer.

"I ran..and ran,: she continued, tightening her hands on her breast, "I  
knew the guards were after me. I could hear them chasing me from behind.  
I passed so many buildings...and alleys..and faces on the streets. All  
that mattered to me was escape. I never wanted to go back  
there...never."

Aeris heaved a long sigh, overwhelmed with this surge of hatred for her  
mysterious tormentor. She turned her back to Vincent again, but kept her  
quivering hands clasped over her bosom. To her annoyance, painful tears  
welled up in her eyes, despite her every effort to suppress them. She  
knew not why she was telling this man of her painful past. It seemed the  
words poured out of her mouth of their own accord.

Vincent, however, kept his back turned to her, as if oblivious to her  
pitiful struggle.

"I've never felt absolutely safe, even after meeting you and the  
others," the girl said, trying in vain to control her tears, "There is  
always this corner in my mind that says I can never, ever escape. The  
Professor..or..Davoren will eventually catch me again, and just drag me  
back. It's like I'm trying to run away from a never-ending nightmare."

She scornfully wiped away her tears, then concluded in such a low  
voice, "But now..at this moment, I feel safe...because I know you'll be  
safe too, and you'll be there by my side when I need you. Just for this  
one time, I don't have to worry about the Professor or Davoren," Aeris  
paused before adding more softly, "I wish this feeling could last  
forever, Vincent...just to feel absolutely safe from harm.. like I feel  
now."

But you know as well as I do it's just a wish..poor little girl,  
Vincent reflected to himself bitterly, there's no escaping those kind  
of nightmares. They may come and go, but never, never leave you alone.

How it pained and angered him to see this young girl...a child compared  
to him...suffer the same tortures he had. Even more that he could not  
fully shield her from this unseen Professor, despite all his efforts.

Yes, Vincent scoffed at himself, just the same with Lucrecia.

He trudged through his entangled thoughts another minute or so before  
finally turning around to the pitiful girl. His hard metallic arm full  
encircled her slender waist, as if afraid someone may snatch her away  
any moment. He drew her closer to him from behind. Aeris gave a slight  
start at the touch of his skin against her back, but offered no  
resistance to the gesture. He nestled her back and head against his  
chest, then wrapped blankets around her body.

"Don't think about the Professor or those bad memories," he whispered  
into her ear, "Go to sleep, Aeris. For now, just go to sleep."

She nodded her only once. Vincent tenderly kissed her cheek, like a  
parent coaxing a child to sleep, then lay still. He felt her tense body  
gradually relax in his grip, but kept his metal arm around her waist.

In a minute, Aeris was fast asleep.

He lay there for a long time, with the poor girl sleeping snugly in his  
arms. Perhaps he too fell asleep for a while; or just stayed awake,  
feeling her cold body against his feverish skin. Hundreds of random  
thoughts, snippets of different memories, and new preoccupations pecked  
at his battered brain all the time. Soon, he grew weary of his bed.

Careful not to disturb Aeris' badly-needed sleep, Vincent slipped out  
of the warm bed. He wandered over to the closet in hopes of finding  
suitable clothing to cover his boxer shorts (indeed, his fever had been  
so intense, his friends had no choice but to strip off his pants).  
Vincent noiselessly rummaged through his clothes until at last found a  
pair of loose black pants. He immediately slipped into the garment,  
tucked his sleeveless shirt in, the tied the ropy belt around his waist  
into a knot.

That task completed, Vincent drifted over to the window. After a  
moment's hesitation, he withdrew one of the curtains, thereby inviting  
the lovely moonlight into the black room. At first, the light hurt his  
strained eyes unbearably. However, as he gazed silently through the  
window, he became quite used to the beautiful, gentle light. It was  
snowing outside.

With peculiar morbid gloominess, he watched the soft snow playfully  
descend the black sky, past his window pane. The snow flakes danced  
before his blood-shot eyes, floating down towards the frozen ground  
outside. Vincent noticed one particular snow flake tumble against the  
window, then disappear the instant it touched the glass.

He touched the icy window in silent wonder. His burning fingers  
twitched uncontrollably at the cold feeling. Slowly, the morose man  
pressed his hot cheek against the window pane, letting the violent surge  
of coldness rip through his feverish body. However, he felt no  
discomfort what so ever. Vincent kept his cheek glued to the freezing  
glass, wallowing in this strange, soothing sensation.

His tall figure and the window cast a sharp shadow on the bed, which  
stood just opposite the window. When he had finished, Vincent turned  
fully around to face the foot of the bed. The shadow of the window frame  
cast itself on the whole bedcovers; his shadow fell very awkwardly  
across the whole bed, disrupting the square pattern of the window frame.

He noticed Aeris' face in the lovely moonlight at last. She still slept  
on her side, with her two hands carelessly lain infront of her soft  
bosom. Her eyes were lightly closed, making her appear more dead than  
asleep. The girl's loose hair all lay pushed back behind her head,  
except for a few long curls that tumbled over her slender shoulders. Her  
face appeared quite pale.

Vincent found her strangely beautiful in the moonlight. Perhaps the  
purity of her pale skin struck his fancy; or maybe the way her long hair  
curled behind her head and tumbled over her white shoulders. Whatever  
his reason, Vincent gazed very thoughtfully at Aeris while she thus  
slept.

She's such an innocent little girl, he wondered internally, just like  
Lucrecia was...she's tortured and suffers day and night from some  
Professor...just like Lucrecia was too...

Yes Vincent, you seem to find this girl so similar to Lucrecia in  
many different ways...

Yet what did you do when Lucrecia REALLY needed you most? You simply  
abandoned her; you let her suffer alone. And after all that high-falutin'  
crap about you loving her...hah! What a hypocrite you are! It IS your  
fault, no matter how you cut it..your fault she died.

Yes...and ever since, you've wished to atone for that one sin. If you  
could protect someone just like Lucrecia..someone who needs you now as  
much as Lucrecia needed you then...maybe you'll be forgiven.

So, is that all this girl really worth to you? Just a means of winning  
forgiveness for your crime?

Vincent suddenly broke away from his gloomy train of thoughts before an  
answer could come. He had, in fact, been only semi-conscious of his  
thoughts until that blunt question had struck him.

Time dragged by. He paced around the dark room until finally, when too  
exhausted to walk any further, he returned to his bed. He flung himself  
on top of the bedcovers, then turned his back to Aeris. He heard her  
sigh softly, then shuffle slightly under the blankets. When he closed  
his eyes, they did not open again.

He could not remember when he fell asleep that night. Although he tried  
his best not to think, his stubborn mind persisted to return to that  
hectic nightmare one last time.

He remembered that day, thirty-one years ago, when he stopped aging.  
It was the same day Lucrecia died.

-End of Chp.28

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	26. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.29

Vincent spent the next few days in an almost trance-like state. Time  
had ceased to have any meaning to him. All he knew was that Lucrecia was  
safe, and Davoren dead.

Immediately after the brutal shooting incident in the apple orchard,  
the Turk (or the "murderer" as the villagers referred to him) spent his  
lonely days confined to his quarters. ShinRa Headquarters strictly  
ordered him to remain sealed in there until they reached a decision  
regarding this critical situation. Vincent offered no resistance, not  
even a word in his defense, but succumbed to all tedious procedures with  
remarkable coolness.

He wasted his hours pacing around his room, with folded arms and a  
patient expression on his face. If he grew tired, he slept. If he became  
hungry, he ate whatever they gave him. Sometimes, he'd gaze  
absent-mindedly out the window, pretending to watch the majestic Nibel  
Mountains outside. Other times, when exhausted from walking, he'd lay  
flat on his back in bed. Silence and boredom were his sole companions.

His door, double locked from outside and always guarded, never opened,  
except when the timid maid delivered his meals. Nor had the morose Turk  
any taste for company. He refused to speak a work unless unavoidably  
necessary. Instead, he preferred to wallow in his own gloomy meditations  
without interruption.

Surprisingly, Vincent could not remember what thoughts occupied his  
mind during those lonesome hours. He probably recalled his dead friend,  
Davoren, and his close friendship with the man. Past memories floated  
back to his mind, reminding him of how well the title "friend" had  
suited the ex-leader of the Turks: Davoren had saved his life in the  
storming of the Reactor. Davoren had always respected and helped him  
whenever possible. And Davoren also defended him when Professor Hojo had  
confronted him in the library.

Indeed, that man had watched over each and every one of his Turks as  
faithfully as a sheepdog. To Davoren, the safety and friendship of his  
Turks had always been his first priority, even before duty. He hadn't  
been just the leader of the Turks. He had also been a loyal friend and  
ardent guardian to his men. In return, this man had undoubtedly earned  
the respect and loyalty of all his Turks, including Vincent's.

Yet despite their close friendship, Vincent hadn't hesitated to kill  
Davoren that night. In fact, his finger had pulled the trigger without  
he even realizing it.

Vincent thought perhaps he should feel regret or guilt for Davoren's  
brutal death. He should, in the normal order of things, feel his  
conscience prick his mind non-stop until insanity broke loose. But did  
he writhe in his bed at night, tortured with remorse for his friend's  
murder? Did he tear his hair, his heart bursting with agony for his  
heinous crime?

No. Such sentiments had never existed in the Turk's cold, dead heart.

To his surprise, Vincent felt no guilt, not even a tinge of pity, for  
this horrible death. As long as Lucrecia remained safe from harm, then  
his friend's death meant nothing to him. If he had taken his friend's  
life, or a worthless beggar's life, what difference would it had made?  
He still killed. Davoren's death only meant more blood on his already  
bloody hands; just another life he had taken in the name of duty. He had  
done it many times before. Too many for him to remember.

So why should he feel guilty now?

Lucrecia alone possessed the key to his cold heart, his very soul. Only  
that one woman touched him where everyone and everything else dismally  
failed. Nothing, not even Davoren's tragic murder, could  
reach his frozen heart. It had always been Lucrecia, and no one else but  
Lucrecia.

Davoren's horrible death, Vincent heard, had caused a wild buzz in the  
usually quiet village of Nibelheim. For days, everyone spoke of nothing  
but the "apple orchard murder". Women stopped each other in the  
marketplace to gossip about it. The miners retold the incident at least  
a thousand times until they knew it by heart. However, although the  
murder had certainly sparked keen interest amongst the curious  
villagers, no one knew exactly why Davoren had been so brutally slain.  
Some believed the two Turks had been quarrelling; others argued that  
Davoren had had some "wicked intention" on that beautiful woman; some  
went as far as to swear that Davoren had, in fact, committed suicide.

"Ah, but who are we to say for sure?" one very old villager repeated  
sagaciously, "Only the ShinRa know."

Shortly after the bloody incident, ShinRa Inc. issued a brief official  
statement to settle the matter. It called for calm amongst the  
villagers; that due to some "misunderstanding" on part of the former  
leader of the Turks, Mr. Valentine was obliged to protect the company's  
interests by killing the man. The whole case would HENCEFORTH be closed,  
and all work in the materia mines would continue as regularly scheduled.

The villagers, though disappointed with this vague explanation for the  
killing, obediently accepted the company's statement. The miners now  
found a hundred other topics to discuss besides the mysterious murder.  
The women busied themselves with the tedious housework, not at all  
interested in the brutal incident. If the murder was even hinted at, the  
subject would be immediately diverted to a different topic. None of the  
ominous villagers dared meddle in "ShinRa matters" for fear of sharing  
Davoren's gruesome fate. As long as the company paid their wages and  
protected them, the simple villagers found no reason to intrude into  
ShinRa's private business; let them do whatever they pleased.

So, the subject was dropped, and eventually forgotten.

On the same day ShinRa Inc. issued that statement, Vincent finally  
learned of his fate: he would resume his full duties as a Turk, and  
remain stationed in Nibelheim until all scientific research was  
completed. He would protect the scientists as his obligations required,  
in addition to seeing to all their needs. The ShinRa President would  
"personally see to the rest of this nasty matter" without prosecuting or  
even punishing the Turk. In fact, the President commended Vincent for  
his strict adherence to his true duties in the face of danger.

Vincent's gun, which had been confiscated during his confinement, was  
immediately returned. The Turk resumed work the very next day, as if  
nothing had ever happened.

Therefore, in a mere two weeks after Davoren's tragic demise, ShinRa  
Inc., thanks to its diligent efforts, restored the peace in Nibelheim.  
As expected, the simple villagers soon forgot the disturbance, and  
returned to their hard work in the mines. The scientists slaved non-stop  
downstairs in the grim library, heedless to the world outside. Life,  
indeed, resumed its usual course.

Both Professor Gast and Hojo treated the Turk as before, Hojo with a  
bit more politeness. Although he still glared hatefully at Vincent  
whenever they chanced to meet, the spiteful man restricted any comments  
to himself. The Turk, in return, treated the two professors very  
respectfully. If they asked for any specific supplies, he made sure they  
were delivered promptly. If any problem arised, he attended to it the  
very same day. Their comfort seemed his sole priority.

Vincent seldom spoke to anyone, preferring to busy himself with his  
duties. Nor did anyone venture to speak to him: his cold, expressionless  
face certainly did not invite friendly conversation. He was always  
alone, as far from human company as possible.

The soldiers addressed him very respectfully, with a sharp salute and  
attentive ears ready for his orders. The kind-hearted villagers tipped  
their hats or bowed whenever the Turk passed them. Everything had been  
restored to its formal state.

All of Davoren's personal belongings were immediately returned to  
Midgar. Vincent never thought of asking what happened to the dead man's  
body: he assumed the corpse had been buried somewhere, probably in  
the grass fields; or maybe shipped back to Midgar. Any other reminders  
of Davoren, like his forgotten pack of cigarettes or his favorite book,  
was suitably disposed of (how happy were the soldiers to receive the  
cigarettes!). All traces of the man were completely erased.

Davoren, the beloved formal leader of the Turks, was never mentioned  
again.

The months steadily passed by, the chilly autumn replaced by a bitter  
cold winter. Though Lucrecia's delicate condition became increasingly  
apparent, she refused to leave her work in the library to rest. This  
grim place, surrounded by countless books and shelves, seemed her sole  
refuge from some spirit only visible to her. It wasn't until two months  
before the birth that Professor Gast, aided by Hojo's insolent threats,  
were able to persuade the woman to rest her body.

"Yes, Lucrecia, my dear, you must rest now," Professor Gast begged  
kindly, patting her trembling hand, "It isn't wise for you to slave like  
this, with a child only two months away from birth."

"Do not forget," Hojo intercepted haughtily, "that child's birth is our  
most important priority. If you do not rest, Miss, then the child could  
suffer. Remember, it's been exposed to JENOVA cells, so its development  
is very different. You must rest and let us monitor its development,  
otherwise all our work these past months would be in vain. Do you  
understand?"

Lucrecia only hung her head and sighed tiredly, "Yes, Sir."

Vincent scarcely spoke to Lucrecia after that bloody shooting incident.  
He avoided her at all costs; shunned any contact with her; and only  
talked to her unless necessary. He was told, much to his alarm, that the  
poor young woman had been in wild hysterics for hours after witnessing  
that brutal killing. Professor Gast had succeeded in calming her only  
after several reassurances and sympathetic words. For days afterwards,  
Lucrecia had spent her time in bed, suffering from a fever and slight  
delirium. Though reasonably well now, Vincent realized his presence  
would merely upset her further: seeing or speaking to him would remind  
her of that awful confrontation in the apple orchard.

Therefore, the Turk never neared the woman. On rare occurrences, if they  
happened to meet in the hall, Vincent would only nod politely and pass  
her by. He never looked her straight in the eye when they talked (an  
even rarer occurrence). Nor did he ever wander down to her chambers to  
visit her (she never asked for him, so why bother her?). He grew more  
distant with each day, his coldness increasing every time he noticed her  
swollen belly. In short, he occupied his time with his own duties, or  
simply wandered aimlessly along the fields until dusk, sometimes until  
nightfall.

Not to say he never thought of his beloved Lucrecia. On the contrary,  
that woman, her whole spirit and very soul, filled his aching heart at  
all times. He yearned for her all the time, especially during the cold,  
black nights he spent awake in bed. That same horrible foreboding still  
haunted his mind day and night; an inexplicable dread that some harm  
might befall Lucrecia. How badly he wanted to protect her, not just from  
Davoren's gun, but from all that might threaten her safety.

But Lucrecia had chosen her path by herself, and had begged him not to  
follow. This mad experiment meant literally everything to her. His petty  
worries and vague insecurities bore no significance to her (why should  
it?).

So, Vincent swallowed his fears for Lucrecia's sake. Though that  
presentiment always plagued his weary mind, he managed to somehow check  
his emotions. He artfully concealed them under a hard, cold visage, far  
away from her eyes to see. All he could do was watch her from afar. Just  
watch.

The bitter winter eventually faded away as the flowers began to bloom  
out of the frozen ground. The birds, home after a long journey, chirped  
with all their might to charm their listeners. Every tree swayed with  
the cool breeze, delighted at the gentle movement. Lush green grass,  
even brighter than before, blanketed entire hills with a fresh new  
cover. Though the cold winter fought valiantly for its domain, it soon  
lost its throne. All of nature, weary of its cruel tyranny, banished it  
until next year.

At long last, when spring arrived, the child was born. Lucrecia named  
him "Sephiroth".

-End of Chp.29

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.29

Vincent spent the next few days in an almost trance-like state. Time  
had ceased to have any meaning to him. All he knew was that Lucrecia was  
safe, and Davoren dead.

Immediately after the brutal shooting incident in the apple orchard,  
the Turk (or the "murderer" as the villagers referred to him) spent his  
lonely days confined to his quarters. ShinRa Headquarters strictly  
ordered him to remain sealed in there until they reached a decision  
regarding this critical situation. Vincent offered no resistance, not  
even a word in his defense, but succumbed to all tedious procedures with  
remarkable coolness.

He wasted his hours pacing around his room, with folded arms and a  
patient expression on his face. If he grew tired, he slept. If he became  
hungry, he ate whatever they gave him. Sometimes, he'd gaze  
absent-mindedly out the window, pretending to watch the majestic Nibel  
Mountains outside. Other times, when exhausted from walking, he'd lay  
flat on his back in bed. Silence and boredom were his sole companions.

His door, double locked from outside and always guarded, never opened,  
except when the timid maid delivered his meals. Nor had the morose Turk  
any taste for company. He refused to speak a work unless unavoidably  
necessary. Instead, he preferred to wallow in his own gloomy meditations  
without interruption.

Surprisingly, Vincent could not remember what thoughts occupied his  
mind during those lonesome hours. He probably recalled his dead friend,  
Davoren, and his close friendship with the man. Past memories floated  
back to his mind, reminding him of how well the title "friend" had  
suited the ex-leader of the Turks: Davoren had saved his life in the  
storming of the Reactor. Davoren had always respected and helped him  
whenever possible. And Davoren also defended him when Professor Hojo had  
confronted him in the library.

Indeed, that man had watched over each and every one of his Turks as  
faithfully as a sheepdog. To Davoren, the safety and friendship of his  
Turks had always been his first priority, even before duty. He hadn't  
been just the leader of the Turks. He had also been a loyal friend and  
ardent guardian to his men. In return, this man had undoubtedly earned  
the respect and loyalty of all his Turks, including Vincent's.

Yet despite their close friendship, Vincent hadn't hesitated to kill  
Davoren that night. In fact, his finger had pulled the trigger without  
he even realizing it.

Vincent thought perhaps he should feel regret or guilt for Davoren's  
brutal death. He should, in the normal order of things, feel his  
conscience prick his mind non-stop until insanity broke loose. But did  
he writhe in his bed at night, tortured with remorse for his friend's  
murder? Did he tear his hair, his heart bursting with agony for his  
heinous crime?

No. Such sentiments had never existed in the Turk's cold, dead heart.

To his surprise, Vincent felt no guilt, not even a tinge of pity, for  
this horrible death. As long as Lucrecia remained safe from harm, then  
his friend's death meant nothing to him. If he had taken his friend's  
life, or a worthless beggar's life, what difference would it had made?  
He still killed. Davoren's death only meant more blood on his already  
bloody hands; just another life he had taken in the name of duty. He had  
done it many times before. Too many for him to remember.

So why should he feel guilty now?

Lucrecia alone possessed the key to his cold heart, his very soul. Only  
that one woman touched him where everyone and everything else dismally  
failed. Nothing, not even Davoren's tragic murder, could  
reach his frozen heart. It had always been Lucrecia, and no one else but  
Lucrecia.

Davoren's horrible death, Vincent heard, had caused a wild buzz in the  
usually quiet village of Nibelheim. For days, everyone spoke of nothing  
but the "apple orchard murder". Women stopped each other in the  
marketplace to gossip about it. The miners retold the incident at least  
a thousand times until they knew it by heart. However, although the  
murder had certainly sparked keen interest amongst the curious  
villagers, no one knew exactly why Davoren had been so brutally slain.  
Some believed the two Turks had been quarrelling; others argued that  
Davoren had had some "wicked intention" on that beautiful woman; some  
went as far as to swear that Davoren had, in fact, committed suicide.

"Ah, but who are we to say for sure?" one very old villager repeated  
sagaciously, "Only the ShinRa know."

Shortly after the bloody incident, ShinRa Inc. issued a brief official  
statement to settle the matter. It called for calm amongst the  
villagers; that due to some "misunderstanding" on part of the former  
leader of the Turks, Mr. Valentine was obliged to protect the company's  
interests by killing the man. The whole case would HENCEFORTH be closed,  
and all work in the materia mines would continue as regularly scheduled.

The villagers, though disappointed with this vague explanation for the  
killing, obediently accepted the company's statement. The miners now  
found a hundred other topics to discuss besides the mysterious murder.  
The women busied themselves with the tedious housework, not at all  
interested in the brutal incident. If the murder was even hinted at, the  
subject would be immediately diverted to a different topic. None of the  
ominous villagers dared meddle in "ShinRa matters" for fear of sharing  
Davoren's gruesome fate. As long as the company paid their wages and  
protected them, the simple villagers found no reason to intrude into  
ShinRa's private business; let them do whatever they pleased.

So, the subject was dropped, and eventually forgotten.

On the same day ShinRa Inc. issued that statement, Vincent finally  
learned of his fate: he would resume his full duties as a Turk, and  
remain stationed in Nibelheim until all scientific research was  
completed. He would protect the scientists as his obligations required,  
in addition to seeing to all their needs. The ShinRa President would  
"personally see to the rest of this nasty matter" without prosecuting or  
even punishing the Turk. In fact, the President commended Vincent for  
his strict adherence to his true duties in the face of danger.

Vincent's gun, which had been confiscated during his confinement, was  
immediately returned. The Turk resumed work the very next day, as if  
nothing had ever happened.

Therefore, in a mere two weeks after Davoren's tragic demise, ShinRa  
Inc., thanks to its diligent efforts, restored the peace in Nibelheim.  
As expected, the simple villagers soon forgot the disturbance, and  
returned to their hard work in the mines. The scientists slaved non-stop  
downstairs in the grim library, heedless to the world outside. Life,  
indeed, resumed its usual course.

Both Professor Gast and Hojo treated the Turk as before, Hojo with a  
bit more politeness. Although he still glared hatefully at Vincent  
whenever they chanced to meet, the spiteful man restricted any comments  
to himself. The Turk, in return, treated the two professors very  
respectfully. If they asked for any specific supplies, he made sure they  
were delivered promptly. If any problem arised, he attended to it the  
very same day. Their comfort seemed his sole priority.

Vincent seldom spoke to anyone, preferring to busy himself with his  
duties. Nor did anyone venture to speak to him: his cold, expressionless  
face certainly did not invite friendly conversation. He was always  
alone, as far from human company as possible.

The soldiers addressed him very respectfully, with a sharp salute and  
attentive ears ready for his orders. The kind-hearted villagers tipped  
their hats or bowed whenever the Turk passed them. Everything had been  
restored to its formal state.

All of Davoren's personal belongings were immediately returned to  
Midgar. Vincent never thought of asking what happened to the dead man's  
body: he assumed the corpse had been buried somewhere, probably in  
the grass fields; or maybe shipped back to Midgar. Any other reminders  
of Davoren, like his forgotten pack of cigarettes or his favorite book,  
was suitably disposed of (how happy were the soldiers to receive the  
cigarettes!). All traces of the man were completely erased.

Davoren, the beloved formal leader of the Turks, was never mentioned  
again.

The months steadily passed by, the chilly autumn replaced by a bitter  
cold winter. Though Lucrecia's delicate condition became increasingly  
apparent, she refused to leave her work in the library to rest. This  
grim place, surrounded by countless books and shelves, seemed her sole  
refuge from some spirit only visible to her. It wasn't until two months  
before the birth that Professor Gast, aided by Hojo's insolent threats,  
were able to persuade the woman to rest her body.

"Yes, Lucrecia, my dear, you must rest now," Professor Gast begged  
kindly, patting her trembling hand, "It isn't wise for you to slave like  
this, with a child only two months away from birth."

"Do not forget," Hojo intercepted haughtily, "that child's birth is our  
most important priority. If you do not rest, Miss, then the child could  
suffer. Remember, it's been exposed to JENOVA cells, so its development  
is very different. You must rest and let us monitor its development,  
otherwise all our work these past months would be in vain. Do you  
understand?"

Lucrecia only hung her head and sighed tiredly, "Yes, Sir."

Vincent scarcely spoke to Lucrecia after that bloody shooting incident.  
He avoided her at all costs; shunned any contact with her; and only  
talked to her unless necessary. He was told, much to his alarm, that the  
poor young woman had been in wild hysterics for hours after witnessing  
that brutal killing. Professor Gast had succeeded in calming her only  
after several reassurances and sympathetic words. For days afterwards,  
Lucrecia had spent her time in bed, suffering from a fever and slight  
delirium. Though reasonably well now, Vincent realized his presence  
would merely upset her further: seeing or speaking to him would remind  
her of that awful confrontation in the apple orchard.

Therefore, the Turk never neared the woman. On rare occurrences, if they  
happened to meet in the hall, Vincent would only nod politely and pass  
her by. He never looked her straight in the eye when they talked (an  
even rarer occurrence). Nor did he ever wander down to her chambers to  
visit her (she never asked for him, so why bother her?). He grew more  
distant with each day, his coldness increasing every time he noticed her  
swollen belly. In short, he occupied his time with his own duties, or  
simply wandered aimlessly along the fields until dusk, sometimes until  
nightfall.

Not to say he never thought of his beloved Lucrecia. On the contrary,  
that woman, her whole spirit and very soul, filled his aching heart at  
all times. He yearned for her all the time, especially during the cold,  
black nights he spent awake in bed. That same horrible foreboding still  
haunted his mind day and night; an inexplicable dread that some harm  
might befall Lucrecia. How badly he wanted to protect her, not just from  
Davoren's gun, but from all that might threaten her safety.

But Lucrecia had chosen her path by herself, and had begged him not to  
follow. This mad experiment meant literally everything to her. His petty  
worries and vague insecurities bore no significance to her (why should  
it?).

So, Vincent swallowed his fears for Lucrecia's sake. Though that  
presentiment always plagued his weary mind, he managed to somehow check  
his emotions. He artfully concealed them under a hard, cold visage, far  
away from her eyes to see. All he could do was watch her from afar. Just  
watch.

The bitter winter eventually faded away as the flowers began to bloom  
out of the frozen ground. The birds, home after a long journey, chirped  
with all their might to charm their listeners. Every tree swayed with  
the cool breeze, delighted at the gentle movement. Lush green grass,  
even brighter than before, blanketed entire hills with a fresh new  
cover. Though the cold winter fought valiantly for its domain, it soon  
lost its throne. All of nature, weary of its cruel tyranny, banished it  
until next year.

At long last, when spring arrived, the child was born. Lucrecia named  
him "Sephiroth".

-End of Chp.29

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	27. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.30

During his entire stay in Nibelheim, Vincent had seen Sephiroth only  
once, which was three weeks after the birth. He happened to be ascending  
the stairs when he spied the maid leaving one of the rooms, with the  
child in her hands. Curious to see the boy, Vincent halted the maid in  
the hallway, then asked (very politely) about any supplies the household  
lacked. The maid, being of a well-disposed nature (and also a big  
admirer of this Turk), began a lengthy description of all the supplies  
necessary for the week.

"Oh yes, Sir! We're out of butter! Goodness, Professor Hojo throws a  
fit if his baked potato has no butter on it," the kind woman prattled  
on, fearful of forgetting an item, "La, Sir! Please don't forget I need  
money to buy a new pan! That last one was...."

Vincent, while nodding every so often to acknowledge her demands,  
carefully scrutinized the baby between her hands. In return, the boy  
stared back in complete awe at this tower of a stranger.

The child was a plump, soft little thing, with the most amazing pair of  
bright green eyes. They shone in childish wonder at the world around  
them, trying to make sense of it but understanding nothing. His hair  
color, of a delicate silver leaning more towards light grey, certainly  
won the admiration of anyone who beheld it; a very unusual color  
indeed, further emphasized by his white, soft skin. He had a beautiful  
round face, which showed childish innocence in its purest state.

To Vincent, Sephiroth looked like any other child.

"I think that's all, Sir," concluded the chattering maid at last, "I'd  
say maybe 30 gil would do it."

"Ah..yes ma'am, of course," the Turk replied, fumbling awkwardly for  
his wallet. He gave her the necessary money (plus a little extra for her  
to keep). After a pause, he asked, rather cautiously, "Where are you  
taking that child?"

"Oh, Sir," she sighed, snuggling the baby more tightly, "The Professor  
wants little Sephy to be moved down to the basement today. Heaven knows,  
I begged him not to. Why, he's barely three weeks old, the little  
darling. Ah, but he just made a sour face and ordered me to 'just do  
it'. There ain't a speck of decency in that scoundrel!"

Vincent eyed Sephiroth another minute before inquiring even more  
cautiously, "And how is Ms. Lucrecia? Is she better now?"

"Ah! The poor dear! She's still hurting from the labor, even though,  
like I said Sir, it's been three weeks. All she does is pine by the  
window, sighing her heart out. It's enough to break your heart, Sir, and  
she's SUCH a pretty, pretty young woman too!"

"I see. Well then, it's best you go now."

"Yes, Sir," she immediately obeyed, curtseying before leaving.

Vincent watched the kind maid march down the hallway, humming softly to  
"little Sephy" who had fallen asleep against her bosom. When she had  
finally disappeared from his sight, the Turk resumed his own way.

These scientists are brutal, Vincent mused to himself, the child's  
barely three months old, and already they...

The two Professors, to be sure, treated the child as an amazing  
phenomenon. Their eyes had gleamed with great but constrained excitement  
on the day of the birth. They spent the first week examining every  
aspect of the child's anatomy, from the tip of his hair to his tiny toe.  
Every detail, down to the most meticulous, needed to be recorded: tissue  
samples for further research; more "tests" to confirm results. The list  
stretched on forever.

How often did Vincent spot either Professor Gast or Hojo barging into  
Sephiroth's room, carrying at least three notebooks and some bizarre  
device in their hands. They remained sealed within that room, sometimes  
for hours, "analyzing" the child for their mysterious purposes. Many  
times while passing them in the halls, Vincent heard the two men eagerly  
discussing the boy. They never tired of speaking about Sephiroth.

"The boy shows a marked difference in many various aspects," Professor  
Gast had once remarked excitedly. The two scientists were marching  
through the corridors when they met Vincent, who immediately made room  
for them to pass. Hojo, as usual, snubbed the Turk, but Professor Gast  
greeted him quite amicably.

As the two men descended the staircase, Vincent heard Gast say, "..he's  
similar to normal humans, but closer observations show he's totally  
different. If my analysis data is correct, then.."

"Ach! We can't assume anything until we FULLY analyze him," Hojo  
interrupted rudely, "I say we bring the child NOW downstairs for a  
complete, thorough testing. Why waste anymore time on simple analysis  
when we should have already started on the more important ones?!"

"Now, now, Professor Hojo."

"Don't you 'now now' me, Sir! The President is expecting a full report  
in a month. And since Lucrecia, our lab assistant, is still ill, we must  
work double time to finish! These analysis tests are crucial to the  
JENOVA Project!"

Vincent listened to the two dissentient scientists debate until they  
cleared the stairs and entered another room. One would have thought they  
were discussing a laboratory animal, not a human life.

No sooner had three weeks passed, than little Sephiroth was transferred  
from his warm crib to a cold hard tabletop down in the grim library.  
Undoubtedly, the two men performed every "analysis" test in existence on  
him, furiously scribbling down all the results. For days on end, they  
toiled like demons, knowing no rest or mercy. they scarcely left the  
library below, if only perhaps to grab a bite and a nap. Both, though  
Hojo more in particular, shunned any contact with the outside world. All  
their sweat and hard work was dedicated to Sephiroth.

No one knew (or dared imagine) what horrible forms of torture  
Lucrecia's son suffered in the name of science. Sephiroth was never seen  
again, nor had anyone the courage to ask about him. In fact, the very  
mention of the Professors' "work" sent shivers down anyone's spine.

The Nibelheim villagers, as always, remained oblivious of any "ShinRa  
matters" conducted inside the grand Mansion. The soldiers, though aware  
of the child's existence, never bothered discussing the topic. The maid,  
busy to her ears in housework, hardly mentioned the boy. Similarly,  
Vincent strictly stuck to his duties, and said nothing.

Sephiroth obviously concerned the two Professors only.

However, some nights, when not a soul stirred the stillness,  
Sephiroth's pitiful shrieks re-echoed through the huge mansion. Though  
quite faint, the cries could reach Vincent's ears as he lay awake in  
bed. The child wailed for hours, during which Vincent stayed perfectly  
still in his place, his eyes fixed on the black ceiling. Poor Sephiroth  
sobbed for any kind soul to rescue him from the loathsome library.  
Sadly, no one ever came.

Vincent wondered if Lucrecia could hear the child's pitiful cries like  
he could.

Much to his annoyance, he found himself thinking a lot about her  
lately. the very recollection of his beloved set his mind adrift in a  
thousand different directions. The fear that some harm may befall her  
still haunted him non-stop. Whenever he passed her closed door, the  
desire to embrace her all to himself nearly blinded his logic. He  
discerned an invisible danger hovering over her head, ready to devour  
her any moment.

Fortunately, Vincent would check his feelings in time, then continue  
his way past her door. Though the presentiment never spared his mind,  
the Turk refused to be guided by emotion rather than reason. Besides, he  
had heard Lucrecia was quite ill. So why irritate her more his  
unpleasant sight?

The poor woman, indeed, had suffered enormously during the actual  
labor. Immediately after the painful delivery, Lucrecia had sunk into a  
dangerous level of semi-consciousness, further plagued by fever and  
genuine fatigue. Professor Gast, greatly concerned about her, strictly  
forbade anyone to visit Lucrecia (save the maid) until her health had  
recovered. The young mother, ravaged by delirium, had cried for days  
afterwards, sobbing repeatedly for her child as well as for "him" (no one  
knew exactly who she meant).

Thanks to Professor Gast's medicines and the maid's tender care,  
Lucrecia eventually recovered enough of her health to see her child.  
However, being still in this critical state, the ill mother was only  
granted two looks at the boy: one during his second week (in which he  
was named), and right before his cruel transfer down to the hateful  
library.

Surprisingly, Lucrecia made no protest or complaint on hearing of  
Sephiroth's transfer. She listened very attentively to Professor Hojo  
explain, in his usual brash manner, how important these "analysis tests"  
mattered to the overall Project. He emphasized a dozen times how  
significant those tests were to the advancement of their research.

"And I won't tolerate any silly, womanly, sentimental nonsense from  
you, Missy!" the insolent man concluded, shaking his long finger in her  
face very haughtily, "You have successfully fulfilled your part of the  
experiment, so don't interfere with mine. Is that clear?"

Too heartbroken to argue, Lucrecia nodded her head, then tiredly turned  
away. She never saw her son again.

One month rolled by. Spring reluctantly faded into a cool, breezy  
summer. Lush blankets of fresh grass covered the rolling hills. Every  
green leaf on each branch of every tree swayed in the wind. The golden  
sunlight, only too eager to reach the fertile land below, delighted the  
winsome village with its warmth. The birds, though regretting spring's  
departure, nevertheless celebrated the glories of summer.

Until that time, Vincent had not seen his beloved Lucrecia even once  
since her son's birth. Although she had recovered sufficiently by the  
time summer arrived, the woman, for some obscure reason, refused to see  
anyone. She never left her chamber, preferring to hide away from the  
world outside. She scarcely ate the food delivered to her door, and  
would not speak to anyone under any circumstances. The kind-hearted  
maid, worried out of her wits, had on many occasions, begged Lucrecia to  
"open the door and have a bit of food". However, Lucrecia remained  
silently imprisoned in her room, her door barred and double locked.

She had not, in fact, crossed the door's threshold since Sephiroth's  
birth. Nor had she spoken a word to a soul for all that time. Nobody  
knew exactly what that poor, depressed woman did in her room.

Professor Hojo, being too engrossed in organizing the analysis results,  
had no time to waste on Lucrecia. The soldiers, as expected, never  
bothered worrying about any of the scientists. Each day dragged by, with  
the young mother still hiding all alone in her chamber. It seemed  
Lucrecia had lost all interest in the world outside her room.

On one particular warm day in the very late afternoon, Vincent heard a  
cautious knock at his door. He carelessly dumped the book he had been  
reading, then opened the door. Much to his surprise, he found the maid  
before him, breathless and on the verge of tears.

"Sir!" she exclaimed hurriedly, her heart swelling with pity, "I've  
tried and tried, but Ms. Lucrecia won't come out of her room! She's been  
locked up for a month now, barely eating and never speaking a word to a  
living soul!! I just don't know what to do anymore! I'm so worried about  
her, the poor little dear!!"

Unable to contain her grief for Lucrecia's misfortune, the  
compassionate woman burst into tears. Vincent spent at least five  
minutes calming her, asking her to repeat herself several times, until  
he finally understood her problem. The kind-hearted maid meticulously  
described Lucrecia's harsh, self-imposed seclusion. She had become so  
desperate, trying to coax the young mother out of her hideout, but all  
in vain.

"She doesn't even answer me, Sir!" the woman complained tearfully, "for  
a whole month now, she won't come out! I told Professor Hojo, but he  
only yelled at me for bothering him. Well! I hope he ROTS in that  
library of his if he won't help this poor woman! The shame of it!!"

At her wits' end after so many failed attempts, the maid had finally  
sought Vincent's help.

"I know you're not like that grouch of a Professor, Sir," she pleaded  
to the Turk, "If anyone can talk some sense into poor Ms. Lucrecia, it's  
you. Please Sir, talk to her! She hasn't opened her door or her mouth in  
a month, and I'm afraid she'd dead!"

Vincent immediately promised the woman he would speak to Lucrecia and  
lure her out of her room somehow. So, after many such assurances and  
vows, the Turk successfully mollified the tearful woman. Her work for  
the day now finished, he dismissed her very politely, even walked her to  
the front door. The good woman blessed the Turk for the hundredth time,  
then left the Mansion in reasonably high spirits.

He shut the door immediately after she had cleared the gate. Vincent  
leaned against the heavy door, trying to organize his thoughts into a  
reasonable order. The haunting silence of the whole mansion crushed his  
senses to bits; it seemed he was the only soul living in it.

Without further hesitation, Vincent decided to try his luck with  
breaking Lucrecia's imprisonment. He skipped up the stairs, then  
noiselessly marched down the corridor towards Lucrecia's room. On  
reaching his destination, the Turk tapped the door lightly, and waited.

No reply.

He knocked the door again more firmly. Still no reply.

"Lucrecia," he called gently, "It's me."

Vincent waited patiently for an answer. None came.

"Lucrecia," the Turk called again, more softly that before, "If you  
don't open the door now, I'll break it down."

When his threat received no response, he took one step closer to the  
door and whispered, "Please, Lucrecia. I want to talk to you."

He stood rooted to his spot, patiently waiting to hear her voice. An  
unnatural silence filled the hallway, challenged only by the howls of  
gusty winds outside. A full minute passed without even a faint scuffle  
inside. Weary of the wait, Vincent lifted his hand to knock again when  
the door suddenly unlocked.

The door opened to a tiny crack, small enough to barely allow a pair of  
tense eyes to glare at the Turk. Vincent returned Lucrecia's strange  
glare with a restrained expression. This was the first time they had  
seen each other in a whole month.

"I don't want to see you, Vincent," she stated, growing more irritated  
with each word, "I don't want to see anyone. Just leave me alone...all  
of you."

Vincent fixed his keen eyes on hers, but did not speak.

"I don't want to see you or that horrid gun of yours! It scares me,  
Vincent. I can't bare its sight!" she whispered in tearful exasperation,  
"Everyone is pounding in my brain...why can't they all leave me alone?!  
The Professor...that stupid maid...Sephiroth.. Davoren...even you! I  
want to be alone! Alone!!"

"I'm not carrying my gun," Vincent replied coolly. To prove the truth,  
he opened his jacket, then showed her his side-holster: it was empty.

"And there's nobody here but me," Vincent reassured softly. He pressed  
his hand against the door, as though he would push it open, then  
implored, "Please, Lucrecia, I won't harm you. Just let me talk to you."

A most peculiar silence fell on the two. Neither muttered a word for a  
moment. Instead, they gazed intently at each other, Vincent with tender  
concern, Lucrecia with crumbling resistance. At last, she fully opened  
the door to admit the Turk, still refusing to speak. Vincent entered her  
room.

"Close the door," she begged in a faltering voice, "Please.. close it  
and lock it.."

He obeyed without question.

Her whole body shaking in agitation, Lucrecia hobbled over to the large  
window, and gazed absent-mindedly through the glass pane. She took no  
heed of the new guest, as though unaware of his presence. An entirely  
different matter seemed to occupy her battered mind.

Vincent scanned her square, stuffy room with mild interest. He noted  
several bedcovers scattered across the bed, some tumbled into a heap on  
the floor. In an easy chair, both Lucrecia's glasses and some overturned  
book lay ruthlessly discarded on top of each other. The ancient lantern  
behind this comfy seat cast a very weak light in the room. Two medicine  
bottles and a tall glass of water stood erect on the tabletop, with some  
colorful tablets scattered around them. Finally, Vincent spotted a tray  
of food rudely shoved into the far side of the room. The food had not  
been touched.

He turned his attention to Lucrecia. She stood leaning against the  
window frame, her back mostly facing him. Her disheveled hair had been  
carelessly heaped into a distorted bun, so that several strands dangled  
against her long neck. The tired woman wore a very loose silk robe  
around her graceful body. Her feet were bare.

Lucrecia's careworn, wasted face, however, alarmed Vincent the most.  
That healthy rosiness in her soft cheeks had withered away. Her eyes,  
blood-shot with many bitter tears, betrayed deep sadness, if not utter  
despair. This passing month had drained the very life out of Lucrecia.

Yet despite the cruel illness, Lucrecia still retained a strange beauty  
about her. Sadness had crushed her spirit; despair had wrangled her  
heart. Nevertheless, Vincent gazed thoughtfully at her beloved face in  
silent fascination. The long, harsh seclusion hadn't robbed an ounce of  
her beauty; it had only added a sad touch to it.

Lucrecia spent a long time looking through her window without speaking  
to Vincent. A cool evening loomed in the sky as the red sun sunk into  
the rolling hills. The birds' sweet chirps filled the air, interrupted  
occasionally by the rude caws of a crow. A branch near Lucrecia's window  
caught her hallow eyes. It swayed playfully in the breeze, often times  
scratching her window, as if it too wanted to enter.

She watched the meek branch dance in the wind. Vincent waited patiently  
for her to speak first. Though so many thoughts cluttered his mind, he  
knew not how to express them.

"You look well," the young woman remarked casually. She did not turn to  
him.

Vincent made no reply.

"You don't go out for your strolls as often as before," she muttered in  
an almost reproaching tone, "Sometimes from my window, I'd see you leave  
the house to go for a walk. But now, you hardly do that."

She drew one arm across her bosom, and covered her haggard face with  
the other. Her shoulders shivered, struggling against a violent surge of  
emotions. She seemed to be fighting brutal, physical pain.

"Lucrecia," Vincent began gently but firmly, "Why won't you come out of  
your room?"

"I don't want to..."

"You've been locked up in here for nearly a month now. You eat very  
little, if at all. From your face, I can tell you've been crying a lot  
and hardly sleep. Now please, Lucrecia, tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know," the miserable woman faltered, "..I'm torn in so many  
pieces, I just don't know anymore."

"Are you...afraid of something?"

She glanced at him, her pale face devoid of any expression, but  
instantly turned away. She did not answer.

Vincent paused a moment before asking, "Are you afraid... of what  
happened that night..when I killed him?"

"I don't know! I don't know!" Lucrecia cried in anguish, "I hear  
Davoren's voice calling me a monster for experimenting on my child! I  
hear you promising me not to interfere, even though I know you want to.  
Then..then Hojo's ugly voice just pounds in my ears..he..tells me I must  
give myself to the experiment..and I feel him touch my body... UGH!! It  
makes me sick!!!"

So enraged by the tumultuous emotions, Lucrecia nearly stumbled to the  
floor had not her hand caught the table. She clutched her breast in  
agony. Vincent moved to help her, but stopped short when he noticed her  
recoil away from him. She leaned against the table, her sole support.

"Don't come near me," Lucrecia implored wretchedly, "Just..just stay  
back...everything..it just screams in my head, and tears me inside out,  
Vincent. I don't know where to hide."

She steadied herself again, but kept a tight grip on her bosom. Vincent  
watched her in concern.

"You remember that night, ages ago, when I told you why the JENOVA  
Project meant so much to me?" Lucrecia recalled dreamily, "..it was the  
same night you kissed me. I..was so sure of myself back then.. so  
arrogantly sure...ah, but now! Now I'm lost in the dark, and can't find  
my way out."

If this pitiful woman possessed any strength at all, it soon  
disappeared. Lucrecia's whole body wobbled to the side as her feet lost  
balance. Unable to contain his alarm any further, Vincent dashed to the  
delirious woman and caught her before she could collapse to the floor.

"LET ME GO!!!!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, "LEAVE ME  
ALONE!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!"

Wild with rage, Lucrecia fought violently to break loose from Vincent's  
grip: she screamed, cried, even kicked his shins more than once. All in  
vain; the Turk surpassed her power greatly and refused to let go. She  
did not hear him call her name, nor could she feel him shake her  
shoulders in hopes of restoring her lost sanity. Instead, Lucrecia  
struggled to free herself from him, even though she knew his arms alone  
prevented her collapse.

To be short, Lucrecia had lost her mind.

Losing his patience at last, Vincent roughly swept his arm underneath  
Lucrecia's two legs, while the other arm encircled her back. Despite her  
fierce kicking, the Turk managed to carry her all the way to the easy  
chair with little difficulty. After brushing aside her book and glasses,  
Vincent sat in the comfy chair and forcefully perched Lucrecia on his  
lap. Whenever she tried to escape, he yanked her back to him. He shook  
the woman so violently, repeating her name over all her insane cries,  
until she suddenly stopped. He had restored her reason.

Lucrecia stared blankly at his face, gasping and scarcely understanding  
how she had landed in his lap. Vincent held her tightly in his arms for  
fear she may either lose her balance or her mind again. His hand  
continuously rubbed the young woman's back in an effort to soothe the  
turmoil in her mind.

Lucrecia looked all around herself in wonder before asking the Turk  
directly, "Did you see Sephiroth?"

Vincent blinked confusedly at the unexpected question, but dutifully  
replied, "Yes, I did."

"When?"

"Right before he was taken to the library."

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to hug him..all to myself, just like this.."

She crossed both hands across her chest, as if actually embracing a  
child. Vincent made no comment.

Lucrecia fidgeted in his lap, trying weakly to stand up.  
Unfortunately, her feet refused to obey her command, and her body  
continued trembling. Vincent watched her grapple with her muddled  
emotions for a long time. He held her very carefully in his lap without  
disturbing her.

"I just wanted to hug him, Vincent," she whispered softly, "..to feel  
his little body in my arms...once would have been enough for me..."

She cast her eyes down in shame, then slowly nestled her head against  
the Turk's shoulder. Lucrecia placed her clenched fist against his  
chest, choking on many bitter sobs. Vincent did not move.

"But Professor Hojo wouldn't let me," she complained, "..Sephiroh..my  
poor little son... he's for the Project, not me. I had agreed to it, so  
I gave him away. I was so sure of what I was doing..the road was so  
clear to me, I could even see the end of it. But when you came, Vincent,  
I became lost a bit, like I didn't want to finish the road anymore..and  
when you..you killed Davoren that night, I lost my way completely."

Vincent gently loosened her hair, so that it tumbled all around her  
shaking shoulders. He placed his hand on her head, which snuggled even  
more against his shoulder at the kind touch.

"I had agreed to bear all of this," she sobbed in misery, "I remember  
telling Davoren 'I accept the consequences', and I will. But it's not  
fair, Vincent! it's too cruel! The Professor wouldn't even let me hug my  
son! I want Sephiroth, Vincent, I want my son!!"

Both her arms suddenly embraced his neck. Lucrecia buried her full  
face further into his shoulder, repressing her sobs to her best  
abilities. Vincent felt her whole body shiver in his lap.

"Lucrecia," he whispered compassionately, running his fingers through  
her hair, "I'll bring Sephiroth to you."

The heart-broken mother looked at him in silence.

"I'll bring him up here, straight to you," he promised, "But you must  
go to sleep, Lucrecia. You need some rest."

For some reason, Lucrecia lifted her shaking hand and caressed the  
Turk's cheek. She gazed tiredly at his face, her cold fingertips running  
along his pale skin. A very weak smile crossed her lips.

"You've always been so kind to me, Vincent, even though I've hurt you  
at least a thousand times. I'm sorry," Lucrecia sighed sadly, "..you're  
only so warm and loving with me..while at the same time, you can kill  
anyone else...murder them in cold blood. It's like a very small part of  
your heart works, while the rest is frozen dead."

He did not answer.

"When you bring Sephiroth to me, we can go for long walks in the  
fields," the sad mother dreamed to herself, "He's too small, so I'll  
have to carry him. If you want to, I'll let you too carry him a bit.  
He'll call me 'mama'..heh, and I'll teach him to call you 'Dada' ...yes,  
I'll pretend you're the father instead of that horrible Professor  
Hojo..."

Vincent studied her beautiful face in well-concealed pain. He had lied  
to Lucrecia: Sephiroth, all his analysis tests being completed, had  
returned to Midgar in the company of Professor Gast. Most of the  
soldiers, weary of the uneventful countryside, decided to return to the  
city as well. Only Professor Hojo remained in Nibelheim in order to  
revise his final report on the Project. Naturally, Vincent's duty  
required him to stay in the village until all the scientist's work  
finished.

Regardless of the painful truth, Vincent nodded his head in agreement  
to Lucrecia's pitiful fantasy. He would do anything, even pretend to be  
Sephiroth's "Dada", if only he could induce Lucrecia to sleep.

The room had grown considerably dim during their meeting. The  
approaching night streaked a deep shade of blue across the heavens,  
casting most of the room into shadows. The birds had long ceased their  
chirping, so that the heavy silence in the room struck Vincent as  
extremely unnatural. Lucrecia nestled her head against his shoulder once  
more. With one hand clasped over her aching heart, she sat perfectly  
still in his lap.

"You didn't come," Lucrecia whispered softly all of a sudden.

"Hm?"

"While I was locked up in here all by myself, I cried all the time,"  
Lucrecia recounted in anguish, "I cried my heart out ten times a day.  
I.. I wanted you to come to me, Vincent. Deep down, I wanted only you to  
help me out of this darkness...to stop this miserable nightmare! I cried  
day and night for you, Vincent, but you never came! You never came!"

Vincent was silent.

"Even though I loved you and wanted you to come so badly, you never  
came," the pitiful woman concluded in a whisper.

Drained of all strength, Lucrecia sunk her head against his shoulder in  
complete silence. Her entire body never stopped shaking in Vincent's  
arms. She watched the sky fade to blackness through the window, then  
buried her face into the Turk's neck. Vincent carefully leaned himself  
back against the easy chair, making sure his movements did not awaken  
the exhausted woman, then snuggled her body more securely against his.

He sat in this position a long time, watching the room surrender to  
darkness. The Turk rested his head against Lucrecia's as his thoughts  
dispersed in different directions. Every passing moment, every sigh the  
woman heaved sharpened a very strange sensation in his heart. In all  
likelihood, Lucrecia hadn't meant those harsh reproaches. To be sure,  
her grief had clouded her reason, enough to accuse the Turk of  
abandoning her.

But she had spoken the truth.

Vincent admitted to himself he had always somehow known Lucrecia was  
not truly happy. He MUST have felt her misery as the experiment slowly  
drained the life out of her.

How many times had the pessimism that Lucrecia would be harmed plagued  
his mind? Indeed, why hadn't he acted to protect her from this menace?  
Instead, he had chosen to wallow in self-pity, excusing it as  
"non-interference". All those past declarations of love battered his  
mind. What disgust he felt with himself. They were empty words, devoid  
of any true feelings.

He should have interfered, even though his mind had discouraged him.  
He should have obeyed his fears rather than discredit them. He  
should have protected Lucrecia instead of idly watching her suffer by  
herself.

Suddenly, Lucrecia's sufferings, agonies, and tears became his fault.  
Her pain was his sin.

Thus sat Vincent, fumbling with his heavy guilt. His past life mattered  
very little, if at all, to him. He found no regret in slaughtering  
misguided beggars in a Reactor, threatening little innocent children to  
satisfy his superiors, or murdering his best friend so ruthlessly. To  
him, these crimes bore no consequence, not even an ounce of  
significance, compared to abandoning his beloved Lucrecia.

How could she ever forgive his blindness? How could he ever forgive  
himself?

When at last unable to bear this burden of guilt, Vincent carried  
Lucrecia straight to bed. He stretched her body fully on the bed, then  
covered her with the bedcovers. The Turk wiped her tear-stained cheeks  
with his gloved hand before leaving the bedroom. He left the door ajar.

Vincent lingered in the dark hallway for one long minute. His weary  
eyes glanced to the far side of the hall, which ultimately led to the  
loathsome library below. Hojo, no doubt, had been slaving all this time  
down there in preparation of his report.

Silence slithered through the black corridor, interrupted by a rude  
creek of some rotting wood. The stained windows rattled with each howl  
of wind. Complete darkness dominated the hall.

Vincent fetched a stiff wooden chair from another room, then propped it  
right next to Lucrecia's door. After glancing into her room one last  
time, the Turk dropped into the chair, overwrought with exhaustion.  
Although he closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest,  
Vincent did not sleep a wink the entire night.

Just before the arrival of dawn, Vincent heard a faint "thump" in  
Lucrecia's bedroom. The Turk, his senses sharper thanks to his lack of  
sleep, instantly sat up in his chair. He listened for a moment: nothing.  
Had he simply imagined the sound?

He stood up. Rubbing his tired eyes, Vincent cautiously peeked into the  
dim room. Everything seemed to be in its proper order, except for an  
extremely peculiar shadow lying heaped up on the floor. It appeared to be  
a body. Much to Vincent's horror, it was Lucrecia.

With a loud oath, the Turk dashed to her body. Lucrecia lay heaped up  
on the floor, face down and both hands close to her bosom. Her hair was  
scattered around her head, even over her face. Evidently, the woman had  
awakened sometime earlier, and must have collapsed suddenly in her  
spot.

"Lucrecia!!" Vincent called loudly, "Lucrecia!! Wake up!!!"

Vincent turned her onto her back. He tore open her collar, calling her  
name all the time, while patting her cheeks. She did not respond.

Frantic beyond reason, Vincent checked the woman's pulse: he could  
barely feel a heartbeat throbbing very weakly. Lucrecia was dying right  
before his eyes! She would surely die unless he helped her now.

In a flash, the Turk stormed out of the bedroom like a perfect madman,  
then dashed down the dark hallway. He knew not what help he could get  
for the dying woman, but understood she lingered between life and death.  
He rushed down the stony passageway, heading straight for the grim  
library. That was his last hope.

On barging in, breathless with agitation, Vincent found Professor Hojo  
writing on the operation table. Several scraps of paper littered the  
bulky table, some crumpled up, others heaped under the flickering  
lantern. The Professor immediately turned to the rude intruder, his face  
showing great annoyance, as if to say "How dare YOU bother ME?"

"Professor!!" Vincent gasped out, taking a step closer to the man, "You  
have to help Lucrecia!! She's dying!!"

Hojo narrowed his mean eyes with peculiar interest at the Turk, but  
said nothing.

Vincent felt the anger boil his blood as he cried, "She's having a  
heart attack!! If we don't hurry and save her now, she'll die for  
sure!!!"

"Let her die then," scoffed Hojo simply.

Perhaps he had lost his mind, or maybe he had simply misheard the man.  
In either case, Vincent whispered in absolute astonishment, "What?!"

"I say let her die and rot in her grave," Hojo repeated, stepping  
closer to the shocked Turk, "The JENOVA cells have poisoned her body, so  
she will die very soon. Besides, she's outlived her usefulness. I don't  
need her for my experiment anymore."

"Have you lost your mind??!!! You can't just..."

"Ah, but you, my dear Sir..you will do quite nicely for my  
experiment..heh heh heh..you'll be part of my OTHER experiment... heh  
heh heh heh..."

Vincent stared in amazement at this mad scientist, not understanding  
his strange meaning at all. Hojo glared maliciously back at the Turk,  
while a sinister grin played on his thin lips. Vincent suddenly felt  
nauseated with the Professor.

"What 'experiment'?" he cried, losing his patience with the deranged  
man, "Professor, you've just FINISHED an experiment!!"

"I know that, you idiot! That's NOT the experiment I meant!!" Hojo  
shouted angrily. He gripped his hair in frustration as he roared,  
"You...and him... all of us..will be part of ANOTHER experiment!! I'm  
not finished yet!! I must finish my experiment! WE'RE ALL PART OF THE  
EXPERIMENT!!!!!!"

Vincent was dumbstruck with this man's madness.

"It could take ten..fifty...maybe a hundred years to finish," the  
insane Professor ranted on, eyeing Vincent so viciously, "..it'll take  
time, Sir, TIME to finish my experiment. But nevermind, Mr. Valentine,  
you can sleep for all eternity, preserved just as you are now. And when  
it's time to finish my experiment..I'll wake you."

The movement was instant; so fast, so unexpected at that mad moment. In  
the blink of an eye, Professor Hojo yanked out a small revolver from his  
pocket and fired once straight at Vincent's chest. The Turk lost all  
sensation of his surroundings, except for a murderous pain ripping  
through his chest. The bullet had most likely hit his heart.

Everything went black.

The very moment he hit the floor, Vincent sprang up in bed in a cold  
sweat. He looked around himself silently. This was his bedroom in his  
apartment. Here was his frightening metallic claw. There was Aeris,  
sound asleep under the covers, safe by his side.

It was all just a nightmare.

It took him great effort to understand he had been merely re-living his  
past once again. All of that madness died long ago: ShinRa, the library,  
Hojo, Davoren...and Lucrecia; they were all ghosts haunting his past.  
They were just faces and places floating in his memory. That horrible  
nightmare finished thirty-one years ago, never to return again...

Or did it?

-End of Chp.30

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	28. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.31

Sad how out of all the vast treasury of memories one human mind  
contains, very selected few actually survive till the end. Most of them  
fade away with time, losing their novelty and flavor. The once sharp  
details become dim; the clear faces turn blurry. Indeed, most of our  
memories are so similar to paintings: the older they grow, the more  
faded and dusty they become. When Time at last fades their colors and  
obscures the details, those wasted memories are sometimes utterly  
forgotten.

Yet the precious few memories which completely evade Time, on  
the other hand, remain forever fresh in the mind until death. These  
memories could be happy, confusing, sad, or even painful. Nothing, not  
even Time itself, could hope to dim one detail of it: the face remains  
forever fresh; the moment forever new; the emotion forever vibrant.

It simply refuses to die.

Despite the torturous, long years of separation, Lucrecia's  
precious memory remained thus forever preserved in Vincent's mind. He  
sealed her beautiful face in his memory. Every curve of her slender  
figure, every movement of her body had long engraved itself into his  
brain. Vincent still remembered the feel of her hair between his  
fingers; the incredible amount of respect and admiration he felt for  
her; even the warmth of her gentle touch. He had absorbed her whole  
spirit into himself, and jealously protected it from any tarnish Time  
may induce.

However, with the precious memory of his beloved Lucrecia came  
the unbearable guilt of abandoning her in her most hour of need. The  
self-disgust and hatred always wrangled his aching heart whenever he  
recalled her image. This one wretched sin, of all the horrible sins he  
had committed, haunted this man's lonely days and cold, black nights.  
They never granted him peace, nor would they spare his tortured mind.

Thirty-one years could not mollify his guilt. On the contrary,  
time had only intensified the pain until his sin obsessed his tormented  
mind. He yearned for forgiveness...her forgiveness. What hatred and  
revulsion he felt at himself whenever he remembered how he idly watched  
her suffer so miserable and alone. Her bitter, bitter reproach "you  
never came" hammered his head and tore his senses to shreds. He wanted  
peace of mind, which ultimately meant his beloved's forgiveness.

If only he could somehow suffer to atone for the unbearable  
crime. Somewhere on this wretched earth, there must be some  
excruciating punishment he could endure to win her forgiveness. Some  
arduous task he could perform, some torture he could undergo just to  
stop the guilt from haunting him.

And yet, Vincent knew no amount of groveling, suffering, or  
torment could match the agonies Lucrecia had borne. In being honest with  
himself, Vincent never believed, not even for one moment, he could hope  
to atone for his crime. He had loved Lucrecia with such a violent  
passion, yet at the same time had abandoned her to a cruel fate. He had  
watched her suffer instead of preventing her pain. In short, Vincent did  
believe himself WORTHY of Lucrecia's forgiveness.

Her pain had damned him to a wretched life forever plagued by  
guilt and relentless self-hatred. He would always live in misery and  
bitter remorse, denied any peace of mind.

But most importantly, Vincent would live his lonely life as he  
had always: a stone-hearted, demoniacal monster. Not because he could  
transform into a hideous creature with sharp claws and black wings. That  
monster was merely part of his abnormal body he artfully concealed  
behind a human guise. No, the real monster was him: it was the same  
heartless creature who just watched Lucrecia suffer instead of  
protecting her.

Let that be his eternal punishment. No mercy. No forgiveness.

But Vincent had Aeris, a frightened little child lost and  
hounded by her dark fears. If he protected her now like he should have  
protected Lucrecia thirty-one years ago.....if he, in fact, PRETENDED he  
fought for Lucrecia instead of Aeris.....would the sin be washed away?  
Would the guilt at long last spare his tortured mind?

Would he THEN be forgiven?

Vincent suddenly broke off in the middle of his gloomy thoughts  
without waiting for an answer. After waking up a second time during the  
night, he had set his tired mind adrift until he had sunk into  
semi-consciousness. Though aware of his wandering thoughts, he scarcely  
possessed any control over their direction or meaning. Yet, being still  
so physically and mentally weak, Vincent had offered no resistance to  
his train of thoughts; at least, not until that desperate question  
struck him in the face. He abruptly ended his morbid meditation by  
forcing his eyes open.

A peaceful silence ruled the grey bedroom.

He lay flat on his back in bed, his dull attention tiredly  
focused on the ceiling. Both his hands rested on his calm chest, the  
metallic claw heaped over the other hand. Vincent scarcely twitched a  
muscle whenever a cold shiver tickled his pale skin. On the contrary, he  
felt quite relaxed. Though the bedroom was quite cold, Vincent had  
chosen to sleep on top of the covers in hopes of cooling his feverish  
body. Much to his relief, his plan had succeeded: the fever had almost  
disappeared.

He glanced askance at Aeris, who slept buried underneath all  
the warm covers. She lay snugly nestled against his body, most of her  
face hidden under the blankets save her eyes and hair. Sweet slumber had  
overpowered her senses so completely, she lay oblivious to her  
surroundings, even to some of her curls that dangled before her lovely  
face. She did not move when Vincent flicked a strand of her hair away.  
Utter exhaustion had rendered her helplessly unconscious.

He turned his eyes back to the ceiling, and did not move for a  
long time.

gentle morning sunlight smuggled through the window, slowly  
dispersing the darkness away. Since Vincent had left only one curtain  
open during the night, some of the room basked in sunlight while the  
other parts lay in grey shadows. Vincent languidly watched the ceiling  
brighten as the rosy morning besieged the bedroom. When he had heard the  
faint chimes of the bell tower signal six o'clock, Vincent sat up in bed.

He gazed absent-mindedly at the window just opposite the warm  
bed. Pure white snow had clogged the corners of each window pane, while  
a gentle mist completely smeared the glass. Indeed, it had snowed very  
heavily all throughout the night.

Vincent hopped out of bed. After one good stretch, he wandered  
over to the cold, misty window. He wiped the fog away with his hand,  
then peered through the glass: the whole world outside lay trapped in  
snow. It covered every rooftop and car in view. The bare tree branches  
outlining the streets below were laden with clumps of snow. One passerby  
trudged through the thick snow piled on the sidewalk, making sure his  
precious briefcase stayed safe and dry.

Vincent turned his weary eyes up to the grim skyline of the  
black city. The ugly tall buildings and banal offices contrasted sharply  
with the beauty of the pure snow. the soot and grime would probably soon  
dirty the snow's beautiful whiteness. How greatly winter in Midgar  
differed from winter in Nibelheim...

He turned abruptly from the window on remembering that  
loathsome village. Its memory filled him with intense pain, just as much  
as Lucrecia's filled him with bitter guilt: It was in Nibelheim where he  
realized his heinous crime. How long ago it happened, yet how vivid it  
seemed.

The mirror hanging across the room suddenly caught his eye:  
Vincent stared in silent wonder at his image, which returned his look  
with the exact same expression. His face had grown quite wan and  
haggard. The cruel illness had, in truth, drained every ounce of life  
out of his weak body until not a drop remained. His keen red eyes  
sparkled brilliantly like a pair of rubies.

And how pale his skin was! His disheveled, long black hair  
tumbled in lustrous strands all around his head, a few infront of his  
face, others well over his shoulders. The shocking contrast between his  
jet black hair and pale white skin only added to his wonder. He had also  
grown thinner: his sleeveless black shirt and loose pants felt a bit  
baggier than he last recalled.

But it's the same face, Vincent mused to himself, the exact  
same face I had in that hectic nightmare....

He stared very meaningfully at his face, his turbulent thoughts  
scurrying around his head. That face did not belong here, it belonged to  
his bloody, murky past. And yet, he still bore the same young, fresh  
face he had borne thirty-one years ago. Age hadn't touched it a wrinkle.

To his bitter mind, this face hardly differed from an artful  
mask, cleverly disguising a monster as a human.

Feeling sudden disgust at his "mask", Vincent tore his eyes  
away from the mirror back to the misty window. He folded both arms  
across his chest as he gazed broodingly out the glass pane. The bakery  
shop down the street finally opened its doors to greet the cold morning.  
Little school children scurried down the pavement, throwing snowballs at  
each other all the way. several of the black buildings in the distance  
had already returned to work. The whole city of Midgar braced itself for  
another cold winter's day.

However, Vincent only noticed these signs of life with hardly  
any interest. Many thoughts, far too morbid for the cheerful morning,  
occupied his mind. He paid no heed to the bright world outside. He had  
grown quite accustomed to the gloomy world inside his head.

The pleasant tranquility of the cold bedroom pleased him.

Unfortunately, the loud sound of the door opening disturbed his  
gloomy meditation. He glanced askance at the intruder without muttering  
a word.

Tifa stumbled into the bedroom, yawning and rubbing her sleepy  
eyes. Her chaotic hair all hung behind her back, with many distorted  
strands pointing in every direction. She wore a large, long night-shirt,  
horribly wrinkled from an unsettled sleep. Evidently, she had just woken  
up.

She fully stretched out her two slender arms as another lazy  
yawn attacked her. When at last she noticed Vincent by the window, she  
sprang back in surprise, exclaiming, "V..Vincent!!!!"

"Good morning, Tifa," Vincent greeted calmly. he returned her  
stunned look with a very composed expression.

Tifa, of course, had least expected to see this man up so  
early, standing in his usual aloof manner by the window. Nor had she  
dreamed of finding Vincent speaking and behaving so coolly. She strongly  
suspected he still suffered from delirium, but was pretending to be  
sane.

"Vincent...you..," she faltered confusedly, marching over to  
him, "..are you...all right???"

"Yes. I'm fine now."

Still doubting his sanity, Tifa pressed her hand over his  
forehead, then his cheek. Vincent fidgeted uncomfortably under her  
sharp scrutiny: she peered suspiciously into his pale face; examined the  
smallest detail for any sign of delirium. Nevertheless, Vincent  
dutifully succumbed to her will, and made no protest to the inspection.

"The fever..it...it's practically gone!" Tifa cried amazedly,  
"..my God! And you're not raving anymore! You've almost recovered!!"

Vincent only nodded once to the joyful news.

Tifa, on the other hand, expressed far more enthusiasm for his  
miraculous recovery. Much to his confusion, she threw both arms around  
his neck and embraced him. Being much taller than her, Vincent stooped  
slightly for her to fully hug him. Though he felt a bit awkward in  
Tifa's tight embrace, he did not resist the kind gesture.

"Ah, you jerk! What's the idea getting sick like that and  
making us worry?" Tifa reproached in a low, faltering voice. She  
tightened her grip around him, as if fearing the dreaded fever may  
return, out all that blood, and raving like there was no  
tomorrow. We all thought you'd die before the night was through."

Vincent, sensing a sob in her voice, gently patted her back as  
he humbly apologized, "...I'm sorry, Tifa..I'm very sorry.."

"You don't have to apologize, Vincent," Tifa replied softly,  
"What matters to us is that you're okay now."

She held him in that friendly embrace another moment just to  
reassure herself of his presence, then released him. Vincent ran his  
fingers through his hair, thinking he should say more. However, since  
all words failed him, he turned awkwardly back to the misty window  
again. Similarly, Tifa fumbled in the uncomfortable silence. She glanced  
at his face from the side: how morose and pensive he looked. She gazed  
outside the window, wondering what thoughts preoccupied this man.

For one full minute, neither spoke a word.

"Excuse me, Tifa," Vincent began softly all of a sudden. He  
turned to face her as he said, "..I have to go now. Good bye."

"Eh??!!" she blinked in amazement, turning to him as well,  
"W-where are you going??"

"I need to take a shower, then get ready for work."

The simplicity of the answer doubled her astonishment. She  
gaped at his calm face, thinking she had perhaps misheard him. But his  
serious expression proved otherwise. Without another word, Vincent  
politely walked past her.

"W-w-wait a darn minute, you!!!" Tifa cried angrily, yanking  
him back by the arm, "You can't just 'get ready for work' as if nothing  
happened! You were raving with a killer fever only last night! And you  
still have a small fever too! You must rest!"

"But, I..I'm fine.."

"If it's your job, then don't worry," Tifa interrupted loudly,  
"I personally explained to them you couldn't go because you were sick.  
Now, unless you want that fever to return, Mr. Valentine, you'll get  
yourself straight back into bed! I do NOT want you having another  
relapse, and..."

"Sh!" Vincent hushed, placing his finger before his lips very  
nervously, "Not so loud. You'll wake her."

"'Wake...her????'" Tifa repeated in puzzlement.

She looked deliberately to the side, where the bed stood,  
suspecting to find an explanation there. To her great shock, she finally  
discovered Aeris snuggled underneath all those warm covers. Aeris, who  
had noiselessly shifted to her back during the conversation, slept as  
soundly as ever. Her head was turned to the side, so that part of her  
beautiful face lay in her thick brown curls. The cozy blankets had  
slipped off her upper body, thus exposing her neck and entire shoulders.  
One of her delicate hands lay carelessly near her face, while the other  
clutched the hem of a blanket to her breast. Aeris only heaved one tired  
sigh. She looked extremely exhausted, but quite content.

To be sure, Tifa had not even noticed the girl sleeping so  
innocently in the man's soft bed. She gaped with eyes wide open at  
Aeris, then back at Vincent, who felt very uneasy on seeing her stunned  
look. Tifa spent a long time glancing between the two. Suddenly, she  
folded her arms and nodded her head quite sagaciously, as though she  
understood the real situation. Vincent watched her uncomfortably.

"Ah, I see," Tifa remarked, eying him very meaningfully, "So  
THAT'S what you two were up to while I was blissfully asleep. Guess  
I don't need to ask if you slept well, do I, Mr.Valen-TINO?"

Vincent blinked in astonishment at her sly meaning.

"Now wait a minute!!" he retorted but instantly lowered his  
voice, "You have the wrong idea. This is definitely NOT what it looks  
like..."

"Uh-huh. Sure," Tifa teased. She playfully slapped his arm as  
she added in a peculiar whisper, "You don't need to be so uptight about  
it, Vincent. I mean, no matter how you look at it, you're a man, and  
she's a pretty young girl. It's good to know underneath that cold  
exterior, you still have the same basic instincts all normal men..,"

But she stopped short when Vincent abruptly turned away from  
her. He folded both arms across his chest as he closed his eyes in  
annoyance. His back remained rigidly facing the bed. Though Tifa knew  
her joke had probably offended him, she could not help but smile at  
Vincent's embarrassment.

"When I woke up around two in the morning, I found her at my  
bedside, washing my forehead...and trying to calm me down, because I was  
having a nightmare," Vincent explained in a low, controlled voice, "I  
could see her whole body shivering from the cold. She was so exhausted,  
I wondered how she managed to stay up at all. Then I learned she's been  
like this at my side for a day and a half. Well, I certainly didn't want  
her to become ill on my account, so I made her sleep in my bed."

Tifa raised an eyebrow suspiciously, as if doubting the  
validity of his simple story. Vincent glanced at her, then coughed  
uneasily. Tifa thought she saw a very light blush color his cheeks, but  
he turned away before she could check.

"She slept under the blankets; I slept ON TOP of them for the  
whole night," he concluded softly, "That is all. I certainly did not  
exceed those boundaries."

"Heh heh..aw c'mon, Vincent! Don't be mad," Tifa laughed  
amicably at his stiffness, "I was only teasing you. Heck, I know you're  
not that kind of guy."

He looked suspiciously at her from the corner of his eye. Tifa  
winked playfully at him to prove she did, indeed, believe him.

"But you know, Vincent," Tifa added, her tone growing quite  
serious, "..Aeris lied to you. She didn't spend a day and a half  
watching over you."

He listened to her in silence.

"Aeris spent the full week literally by your side, nursing and  
caring for you. She never left your side. For a full week, she washed  
your forehead, held your hand, even whispered in your ears (I have no  
idea what she told you). Whether you were unconscious or raving like  
mad, Aeris watched over you by herself. She refused to let me or Cloud  
look after you, not even for a minute."

Vincent fixed his eyes on the view outside the window without  
interrupting Tifa. Tifa glanced timidly at his stoic face, then looked  
at Aeris. The girl hadn't moved a muscle.

"She probably just lied to you so you wouldn't get worried  
about her," Tifa excused for the kind-hearted girl, "Caring for you was  
so important to her, the silly thing hardly bothered sleeping. I told  
her to wake me at midnight, because I wanted her to get some decent  
sleep. But, of course, being so stubborn, she didn't listen."

An awkward silence filled the room as she finished her story.  
Vincent turned around to face Tifa again, unsure how to react to the  
truth. Tifa studied Aeris' tired face for another minute before she too  
turned to Vincent. Her brown eyes softened with tender kindness on  
meeting his calm, red eyes.

"Would you like some coffee before you go to work?" Tifa smiled  
simply.

Vincent nodded his head in consent.

"Alrighty then. It should be ready in a minute."

Tifa immediately left the room to prepare his hot drink.  
Vincent, on the other hand, lingered for another moment at the foot of  
the bed. His whole face darkened with some troublesome thought as he  
gazed very intently at Aeris. The girl slept in her same position,  
blissfully unaware of all around her. Sweet, deep sleep had gently  
lulled her eyes to seal shut. Vincent carefully tucked her in again,  
then drew the curtains across the window. He quietly shut the door after  
he left the room.

As he wandered down the familiar hallway, loud snores from the  
living room caught his attention. He silently peeked into this dark room  
in search of the noisy source.

Slouched on the couch, Cloud slept soundly in nothing but a  
light undershirt and his boxer shorts. Both his legs were wide apart,  
one dangling over the arm of the comfy seat. His head, with all that  
shock of blond hair, slumped sharply against his shoulder. A woolly  
blanket, obviously his own, lay discarded on the floor. Cloud snored  
with a large, gaping mouth, occasionally giving a sharp snort whenever  
he scratched his thigh. To be sure, not even the mightiest of  
earthquakes could have awakened this young man from his deep slumber. He  
looked exhausted beyond description.

Vincent frowned slightly at Cloud's sloppy way of sleeping on a  
couch, but let the tired man enjoy his rest. He entered the kitchen  
across the hall, where Tifa had just finished preparing his coffee.

"Careful now. It's very hot," she warned as she handed him a  
steaming mug.

Taking the cup in his hand, Vincent collapsed into the nearest  
chair by the wooden table. Without a word, he took a quick sip, then  
began idly swirling the drink. The hot coffee, with its distinct aroma,  
quickly sharpened his senses and dispersed whatever weariness still  
clung to him. He took another sip in silence.

Tifa watched him revel in his pleasant drink without  
interruption. After a moment, she too poured herself some coffee, and  
sat near her gloom friend. As she quietly sipped her hot drink, Tifa  
studied Vincent's pensive face from the corner of her eye.

"Cloud looks very tired," Vincent remarked casually without  
looking at her.

"Oh yeah. He should be after that little 'adventure' of his  
last night," scoffed Tifa, feigning real anger. She placed the mug on  
the table firmly as she recounted, "See, last night, you had this REALLY  
BAD fever. We were actually fighting just to keep you alive. You were  
delirious, of course, screaming and kicking. None of the medicines were  
working, and your body was burning like fire. So, leave it Mr.  
I-am-so-damn-clever Cloud Strife to come up one last ditch effort to  
save you."

She gulped down her coffee, disregarding its hotness, in an  
effort to mollify her agitation. Vincent eyed her cautiously, but did  
not interrupt her story.

"He filled the bathtub with water, dragged you all the way in  
spite of your raving, and dunked your whole body in the tub to cool you!  
I nearly murdered him! I mean, I thought he was trying to do some kinda  
'mercy killing' by drowning you. But Cloud kept on repeating he wouldn't  
let you die just yet. So, he spent around two hours last night dunking  
your body in and out, until the fever finally went down. Naturally, he  
was exhausted, so there he is now, snoring away in dreamland."

She paused before adding softly, "I was skeptical at first...  
but I..I'm just glad his crazy idea worked."

An awkward silence followed after Tifa reached the conclusion.  
Vincent brooded over his cup of coffee, while Tifa glanced timidly at  
him to check his reaction. He swirled the hot coffee several times  
before standing up all of a sudden. Keeping his back totally turned to  
Tifa, he wandered over to the counter. Tifa wondered at his strange  
behavior.

"..Tifa..," he muttered after some hesitation, "..thank you.  
I..owe you my life. I'm very sorry for troubling you..all of you, like  
this.."

Although the show of gratitude quite simple, Tifa sprang out of her  
seat in great surprise, almost absolute shock. Vincent coughed uneasily  
at her reaction, but still kept his back turned to her. He could discern  
her confusion without even looking at her.

"Ah..now..h-hey, Vincent!" Tifa faltered nervously, walking over to him  
at once, "I told you you don't need to apologize for anything! You're  
our friend, remember? We all look out for each other! .....though the  
way you've been outta touch for this last year..not bothering to visit  
us even though you lived right here in Midgar... hhmmmm...makes me  
wonder if you really worth saving..."

When Vincent glared significantly at her, Tifa immediately laughed,  
"Just kidding! Kidding!!"

He leaned back against the counter, taking one last sip from his coffee  
before discarding his mug. Vincent silently folded his arms across his  
chest, and narrowed his eyes in deep contemplation. He paid no heed to  
Tifa who eyed him with peculiar concern.

"But, Vincent," she whispered, touching his arm lightly to win his  
attention, "I just want you to take care of yourself..and watch out for  
any danger. If not for your own sake, then at least for Aeris."

He made no reply.

"See, I'm very worried about you," continued Tifa softly, "I have this  
bad feeling you're hiding something from all of us. And I can't guess  
it, because you don't WANT anyone to. If there is anything, Vincent, any  
trouble..any danger you're concealing, then please tell me."

She stared so intently at his face, beseeching him to unburden whatever  
"trouble" pestered him. In return, Vincent gazed stoically back at her.  
For one full minute, no sound but Cloud's rude snores interrupted the  
heavy silence of the kitchen.

At last, Vincent turned away.

"...I cannot tell you, Tifa..," he apologized very gently.

"Vincent," she retorted in a cautious undertone, "Does any of this have  
to do with...a white-haired man?"

He froze solid in his spot on hearing those last three words. His  
reaction certainly baffled Tifa. She watched him fumble in confused  
hesitation for a minute. When he finally turned to face her, Vincent's  
keen eyes fixed themselves rigidly on her face, demanding an immediate  
explanation.

Tifa realized she had somehow hit the mark.

"I...I've been meaning to tell you this, but I forgot," she recounted  
nervously, "About a month ago, this man...with unnaturally white hair  
and these weird pink eyes asked me to meet up with him. He was a bit  
taller than you, around thirty, and wore this thick trench coat over his  
suit."

A dreadful uneasiness filled Tifa's heart as she looked into Vincent's  
morose face. He seemed to weigh her every word quite heavily. She  
distinctly recalled this mysterious stranger, but now his memory sent a  
cold shiver down her spine.

"He asked me whether I knew you...he even showed me a picture of you as  
a Turk. Then he asked me where to find you. At the time, I had no idea  
where you were. Like I said, you didn't keep in touch after Avalanche  
disbanded. I repeated several times that I simply did not know. So, he  
just left without another word, and I never saw him again. He...he was  
very strange. Oh, he was polite and everything, but he.. wouldn't tell  
me his name. He just seemed so bent on finding you."

Vincent's red eyes sharpened keenly at the conclusion of Tifa's story.  
A most solemn expression darkened his face. Several thoughts battled  
through his mind at the same time, each in a completely different  
direction. So engrossed in his own gloomy contemplation, he forgot Tifa  
standing concernedly before him.

The image of Davoren floated into his mind, both the one he had  
befriended in that nightmarish flashback, and the present one he fought  
that day Aeris ran away in the rain. His hair color had faded from  
chestnut to abnormally pure white. his eyes, once of a deep honey  
color, had changed to the strangest shade of pink. Nor did he behave  
like the Davoren Vincent had always known. Far from it, the Davoren  
Vincent had battled that night to save Aeris acted with such ruthless  
brutality..such bitter hatred. Not at all like the one who had shown  
genuine compassion and kindness.

Yet, the face remained the same, not a wrinkle added, not an ounce of  
youth taken. Davoren's face looked as young as it had the night Vincent  
killed him, thirty-one years ago. But HOW was Davoren alive....and why  
was he here?

He said he served some "Professor" now..the very same who had  
heartlessly tortured poor Aeris in a laboratory.....was it Professor  
Hojo? This mysterious "Professor" also wanted Vincent...why? What  
connection existed in all of this madness?

"an....'experiment'?" Vincent mumbled inaudibly to himself. He frowned  
at the unsatisfactory answer.

"W-what??" Tifa asked, baffled by his strange meaning.

Vincent suddenly looked at her on realizing how far his mind had  
drifted. Tifa waited anxiously for him to speak. His moody silence and  
grave expression alarmed her beyond measure.

"Listen, Tifa," he begged gently but firmly, "There are many... many  
things I can't tell you now because I don't want any of you involved. I  
don't want to endanger your lives when you can be safe as you are now.  
Trust me, when the time is right, I'll tell you all you need to know.  
But for now, Tifa, please don't ask me anything."

"But, Vincent, what..."

"Please, Tifa."

Both stared intently at each other. Tifa gazed searchingly into his  
ruby-red eyes, hoping perhaps to find answers to all her burning  
questions. Unfortunately, he had buried his own thoughts and misgivings  
under an absolutely stoic visage. He would not betray a thing to her.

Defeated at last, Tifa sighed softly, "I..I understand...but, Vincent,  
just be careful."

He nodded his head in silent agreement.

"Thank you for the coffee," he concluded politely, "I must take a  
shower now before going to work."

Without further argument, he left the kitchen.

His brain churned a thousand thoughts around his head, all related to  
Davoren in some way: undoubtedly, Davoren would return someday to claim  
Aeris for his "Professor". He showed no pity for the girl's fright; no  
regret for trying to drag her back to her despised tormentor. And Aeris,  
understandably, regarded Davoren as the cursed devil, and Vincent as her  
blessed guardian angel. She knew absolutely nothing of either man's  
past; only that she wanted to feel safe and free from harm, just like  
she had wished last night in bed.

The thought played on Vincent's mind: if you protected this girl NOW  
like you should have protected Lucrecia THEN.... maybe you'll be  
forgiven. Perhaps if you deluded yourself a bit and pretended you fought  
for Lucrecia instead of Aeris...sure, maybe you'll wash the crime clean  
from your hands.

But, Vincent, when Aeris ran away in the rain, mad with fear, you  
followed her without hesitation. You told her bluntly you felt "concern"  
for her...and that you didn't want to see her end up as "mentally  
shattered" as you were; you also said you understood her feelings; you  
wanted to help her. Strange enough, you meant those words....every  
single one of them. Last night, as she lay by your side remembering the  
torture she had endured, you embraced her to stop the pain. It hurt,  
even angered, you to see her suffer like you had long ago.

Were you pretending she was Lucrecia that time as well?

And is that all? Are you sure that is all Aeris is really worth to you?  
Simply another means of atoning for one sin you have become so desperate  
to erase? Could you really be such a selfish...monster?

The instant the simple question struck him, Vincent immediately shoved  
the whole thought away, and occupied his mind elsewhere.

-End of Chp.31

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	29. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.32

Aeris found herself helplessly enshrouded in darkness. The  
eerie silence filled her heart with dreadful fear. She was all alone.

"Wh..where am I..?" she whispered to herself.

She tried to walk forward, but could not move her legs a  
muscle. Some invisible force, infinitely stronger than her, rooted her  
feet to the spot. The heavy silence crushed her senses to bits.

"My dear... my precious little darling..," hissed a mocking  
voice suddenly into her ears, "..look at her..."

Aeris shivered on feeling a fervent breath tickle her neck from  
behind. It grew more and more hot until she thought it would devour her  
whole body. Yet surprisingly, Aeris dared not even try to move. She  
froze in her spot, offering no resistance whatsoever. Her anxious eyes  
frantically searched the black surroundings in hopes of finding the  
mysterious speaker: nothing but total darkness. She felt cold,  
especially in her feet.

"Who..who are you??" she asked when she had mustered up enough  
courage to speak, "What do you want with me??"

"We must complete the experiment..," whispered the same evil  
voice, "...where is she?...she can not hide... We must finish.."

"...'experiment'..??"

Silence again. Aeris looked around herself to search for the  
invisible speaker.

"What do you want with me? What?!!" she cried through the  
darkness.

"Heh heh heh heh..," the malicious voice chuckled from behind  
her, "..where is she hiding?... look at her..so perfect...so deliciously  
perfect..."

Aeris felt a burning hot hand fondle her neck, as if admiring  
her perfection.

Frightened out of her wits at the loathsome touch, Aeris  
frantically struggled to escape this mad nightmare. She cried, screamed  
for help, tried to wrench herself out; but her feet grew more leaden  
with her futile efforts. The malevolent voice, on the other hand,  
surrounded her from every direction to block her way. It hissed loudly  
into her ears until tears streamed down the poor girl's cheeks.

"Leave me alone!! Go away!!!" Aeris shrieked madly, "I know who  
you are!! I don't want to go back there!!! Leave me alone!!!!!"

When she had finished screaming those words, the evil voice  
faded away into oblivion. The haunting tranquility returned once again.  
Aeris was alone.

"..leave me alone..Professor..," she whimpered through her  
tears, "..please...leave me alone.."

No reply.

Aeris gaped tearfully at the empty darkness for a seemingly  
long time. Slowly, she crouched in her spot, huddled her feet together  
and stayed perfectly still. Her cold limbs refused to stop trembling.  
Intense nausea sickened her anguished heart. The ghostly silence only  
doubled her fear. She felt like a helpless child, lost in a black  
nightmare without anywhere to run. Her pathetic feebleness irritated her  
beyond measure, yet at the same time frightened her.

Much to her surprise, Aeris finally noticed a round mirror  
hanging right infront of her face. Where such an object came from, she  
could not guess. Moments ago, she saw nothing but utter darkness. The  
girl stared blankly at the glass, as if it alone would explain the  
mystery to her.

Strangely, Aeris could not see her reflection in the mirror.

"But..what..does that mean?" she asked herself in a soft  
undertone. Her anxious eyes remained fixed on the mirror in hopes of  
obtaining an answer.

"Why isn't there an image on the other side? Why?" cried Aeris  
in distress, "Why can't I see myself?!"

"You see no image because YOU are on the other side.... YOU  
are the image!" boomed a thunderous voice right behind her.

"..me??..the..the image..??"

Aeris gaped incredulously at the empty mirror. The nausea  
nearly choked her as she desperately searched for her image. When she  
found nothing, frustrated tears welled up in her eyes. She seemed to  
have placed such childish importance on finding her reflection.

"It's you! You are the image! The perfect image!" sneered the  
loud voice straight into her numb ears.

"..stop it.."

"An image!"

"Stop it!!"

"An image!!!"

She covered both ears as she screamed at the top of her lungs,  
"STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

On hearing her own piercing scream, Aeris suddenly shot her  
eyes wide open. She found herself comfortably snuggled in a very warm  
bed, half of her face buried in the pillow. Her swollen eyes stung with  
many hot tears; she had been crying in her sleep. She lay on her side,  
sheltered under several thick blankets. Her limbs felt quite numb; her  
breathing fast.

For maybe five whole minutes, Aeris did not even twitch a  
finger. She wallowed in the peaceful silence, welcoming her scattered  
senses back. Slowly, she clasped both hands over her breast to soothe  
her pounding heart. It had all been only a bad dream.

"..I remember that dream..," she whispered inaudibly to  
herself, "..I had a similar one... when Vincent first brought me here.."

She did not move a muscle as the monotonous tic-tock of the  
clock fell on her dull ears. A calm darkness dominated the bedroom,  
accompanied by a most gentle stillness. Aeris scanned the dim room  
without lifting her head: the curtains were drawn across the windows.  
The desk, closet, and all other furniture stood in their proper places,  
just as she remembered them.

However, the bedroom door had been left ajar. Aeris gazed in  
silent wonder at the bright light smuggle through the opening, and cast  
a sharp, irregular shape on the floor. She nestled herself further into  
the soft bed, reluctant to abandon it just yet, then closed her tired  
eyes. They stayed shut for a long time.

She thought she felt somebody peek into the bedroom, then  
quietly slip away. When she finally managed to open her eyes again,  
Aeris found no one there.

She could not recall whether she had fallen asleep again or  
not. Aeris forcefully induced herself to sit up in bed. After rubbing  
her tearful eyes, she hopped out of bed with new vigor. Such long, deep  
sleep had refreshed her immensely.

She found her cream-colored shawl still lying on the ground,  
where Vincent had discarded it last night as he pulled her into bed.  
Aeris picked it up, then wrapped it around her shoulders. She carelessly  
tied her disheveled hair into a tight bun, ignoring the stray curls  
that dangled against her neck. When finished, Aeris slipped her feet  
into her warm slippers, and left the dark room.

The bright lights of the hallway dazzled her eyes for a moment.  
Faint sounds of the television in the living room immediately attracted  
her attention. After some hesitation, Aeris wandered down the corridor  
but halted at the entrance of the room. She looked inside.

The lights in the living room had been dimmed greatly. The  
curtains were drawn across the window, thus darkening the room further.  
Its volume reduced until barely audible, the T.V jabbered away in the  
far corner. Grey shadows danced on the walls whenever the bright screen  
flashed. Other than the low gibberish of the T.V, all was silent in  
the living room.

In the couch right infront of the entrance, Vincent lay slumped  
back with a folded wet towel plopped on his eyes and forehead. Since the  
back of this comfy seat faced Aeris, she could only see the back of  
Vincent's head. He made no movement at all. Aeris hesitated a moment  
between retreating and entering the dim living room. At last, she  
decided to venture in.

She tip-toed up to Vincent from behind, then paused at the  
coffee table, where she could see him in full view. The man rested  
comfortably in the couch, with both feet carelessly heaped on the table.  
His head bent sharply backwards so as to keep the towel on his face. His  
metallic claw lay on his chest while the other hand dangled over the arm  
of the seat. Aeris studied his tired figure for a long time. He seemed  
to have fallen asleep.

Her eyes wandered to the coffee table which supported his heavy  
legs. His black gun lay discarded on the tabletop, along with the  
apartment keys attached to his wallet. Evidently, he had returned from  
work not too long ago.

Aeris glanced timidly back at Vincent, who hadn't moved a  
muscle from his resting spot. She wondered whether she should re-adjust  
his position to make him more comfortable in the couch. However, the  
thought of perhaps disturbing his precious sleep strongly discouraged  
her, more the fear of irritating him with her petty cares. So instead,  
she chose to let him sleep in peace.

But before the girl could retreat, Vincent's calm voice  
suddenly asked, "Awake at last, are you?"

Aeris gave a start on hearing the unexpected question, but  
managed to falter out, "Ah..y..yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake  
you, Vincent."

"I wasn't asleep," he stated monotonously.

For a full minute, neither spoke a word. Vincent took  
absolutely no heed of Aeris as she fidgeted by the coffee table, unsure  
what to do now that she had been discovered. His head remained thrust  
back against the couch, and the upper part of his face soaked in the wet  
towel. He did not lower his feet off the poor table, nor would he remove  
his claw off his chest.

"Sit down," he invited the timid girl.

She sat obediently by his side on the couch. Aeris drew both  
her legs together as she tightened the shawl around her shoulders.  
Vincent only re-adjusted the towel on his forehead, but made no other  
movements. He seemed to have forgotten Aeris' presence altogether. The  
muffled T.V continued its senseless jabber, angry that no one paid  
attention to it.

Aeris felt very awkward in this uncomfortable silence.

"Did you sleep well?" Vincent inquired all of a sudden. He  
still did not lift the towel from his forehead.

"Eh? Oh..oh yes," Aeris replied nervously as she fingered her  
shawl, "I slept like a baby all day today."

He made no reply.

"I felt so tired and exhausted, I couldn't even lift my head  
off the pillow," she continued, glancing cautiously at him, "I guess  
it's because I hadn't slept that well these past few days. And once I  
managed to actually fall asleep, all the weariness just piled on me."

"When you spend a full week instead of a day nursing the sick  
without any sleep, it's only natural you'd feel so tired," Vincent  
remarked meaningfully.

Aeris' cheeks flushed crimson on hearing the honest comment.  
She turned her head away, silently berating Tifa for revealing the truth  
to Vincent. Fortunately, he did not pursue the matter any further than  
that remark.

"You've been at work today, right?" Aeris asked after a short  
silence.

"Yes."

"I didn't hear you come in."

"You were still asleep."

She nodded to herself with a faint "Oh"; it must have been him  
whom she felt peek into the bedroom while she slept.

"You should have stayed home for today at least," Aeris  
reproached gently without looking at him. Her voice softened as she  
added, "..I don't want you becoming ill again... with that horrible  
fever tearing at your body and brain.."

"I'm all right, Aeris," he answered curtly.

In saying that gruff assurance, Vincent finally forced himself  
to sit up in the comfy couch. He lowered both feet, careful not to knock  
over the objects on the table. He slipped the towel off, wiped the water  
off his pale face, then plopped the wet cloth back on his forehead. With  
a tired sigh, Vincent sunk back and shut his eyes once again.

His hand held the wet towel to his forehead. His metallic claw  
now stretched itself fully along the back of the couch, well past Aeris'  
head. the girl tensed slightly on feeling such a sharp, frightening  
object outstretched just behind her, but made no protest. She looked  
concernedly at Vincent, whose eyes remained shut.

"I had a coughing fit today," he sighed under his breath,  
"...and I think I'm having a little relapse now because of it."

His plain words alarmed the poor girl greatly. She immediately  
edged nearer to help him.

"It's nothing serious," Vincent reassured before she could  
speak, "..just a slight fever, that's all."

"Do you want me to.. wash your forehead, Vincent?" Aeris  
suggested as she touched his hot cheek, "Maybe it's better if you lie  
down for a while and let me..."

"No, it's okay," he interrupted gently without opening his  
weary eyes, "Just sit here with me."

Aeris paused a long time to study his face. Since he wore no bandanna,  
his thick black hair tumbled all around his head, some even over his  
face. He held the wet towel against his hot forehead, letting the cool  
water trickle down his hot cheeks. Both his eyes were lightly closed.

She also noticed Vincent's chest heave slightly every so often,  
as if bearing a dull pain snuggled deep within. To be sure, most of the  
signs of severe illness had disappeared, but Vincent still lacked a  
certain healthiness in his appearance.

"At least let me make you some herbal tea," Aeris pleaded,  
"Tifa taught me how to make this special kind of tea, and it's supposed  
to be really good for you. Do you want me to make us some?"

Vincent glanced askance at her, then nodded his head twice.

"I'll be back in a minute," she smiled in relief. With one  
quick pat on his knee, Aeris got up, and left the living room.

When she had gone to prepare the special herbal tea, Vincent  
nestled himself further in his restful spot. On discovering the remote  
buried under the cushion, he closed the troublesome T.V at once. He  
held the wet cloth against his feverish forehead without stirring a  
muscle. From the kitchen, he could hear Aeris humming sweetly to herself  
as she made the drink.

However, he suddenly noticed an old book dumped on the arm  
chair next to him. With curious interest, Vincent picked up the book and  
examined it silently: it was some novel from his personal library. After  
discarding his wet towel away, Vincent carelessly flicked through the  
pages, wondering how this book had landed in the arm chair.

"Okay. Here you are," Aeris announced as she entered with two  
small bowls of tea on a tray.

On placing the tray on the table, Aeris spotted the old book in  
Vincent's hand. She froze in her spot, overcome by great shame and  
extreme embarrassment. Without a word, Vincent watched the girl fidget  
nervously before him.

"I..I'm sorry," she faltered out guiltily, "I've been reading  
that book without telling you."

He made no answer to her confession.

"Sometimes, I get bored sitting here by myself, so I borrowed  
one of your books," Aeris explained, casting her eyes downwards, "..it  
was the only one I could actually understand. All the rest of your books  
are too... scientific, or just too hard for me. I was going to return  
it, of course! I accidentally forgot it there because I was too busy  
taking care of you."

Instead of replying, Vincent carelessly dumped the book on the  
table and turned his pensive face away from her.

Mistaking his reaction for anger, Aeris apologized with a  
humble bow, "I'm sorry, Vincent. I should have asked your permission  
first. I certainly didn't mean to..."

"You can keep the book if you like it," he dismissed casually  
without even glancing at her, "...and you don't need my permission for  
anything, Aeris. You've lived here for about a month now. This apartment  
is your home as much as mine."

Her cheeks blushed at his kind generosity. She murmured a very  
soft, "Thank you."

When he noticed the nervous girl still lingering before him,  
Vincent picked up a bowl of tea, then remarked coolly, "If you don't  
drink your tea, it'll get cold."

"Oh! Y-yes!" Aeris fumbled out at once.

She sat by his side again, and took the other bowl of tea for  
herself. Vincent watched her gradually overcome her confusion from the  
corner of his eye, but spoke no more.

"Wait, don't gulp it down at once," Aeris instructed before he  
could lift the bowl to his lips, "You should sip it nice and slow. And  
try not to drink the leafy herbs; they give the tea its flavor."

Being inexperienced in the art of drinking such special teas,  
Vincent dutifully obeyed her advice. He took a quick sip, then waited  
silently for the result. Aeris fixed her anxious eyes on his face to  
check his reaction.

"How... how is it?" she asked at last.

"It tastes a bit funny," he described after another sip, "..but  
it's not too bad."

"Then you like it!" Aeris beamed with delight, "This is the  
first time I actually make such a tea. I was afraid you wouldn't like  
it."

Vincent eyed her thoughtfully , but did not reply.

The two sat comfortably on the couch, sipping their hot tea in  
peaceful silence. Vincent in particular seemed to enjoy this  
tranquility. After finishing his tea, he placed the bowl in the tray  
and leaned back against the couch. Soon, his eyes shut tiredly as he  
sunk into his usual gloomy meditation.

Aeris, on the other hand, gazed intently into her bowl of tea.  
In truth, her faint reflection in the tea had caught her attention so  
suddenly, she could not tear her away from the bowl. That dreadful  
nightmare she had just escaped crept back to her: she instantly recalled  
the blank mirror, and the evil voice hissing the word "image" into her  
ears. A slight shiver tickled her spine.

"You look troubled," Vincent commented suddenly, startling her  
out of her reverie. He kept his eyes shut.

"Eh?" Aeris faltered, "No..I..I'm just.."

"When I checked on you an hour ago, I heard you crying in your  
sleep. Were you having...a nightmare?"

After some confused hesitation, Aeris mumbled, "Yes."

"The...'Professor'?"

She nodded her head, even though he wasn't looking at her.

Nevertheless, a deep frown darkened Vincent's face at her  
silent reply. His entire countenance, in fact, grew quite sullen and  
cold. Aeris tried to resume sipping her tea, but soon abandoned her  
bowl on the tray. She cast her eyes down at her feet.

"Nightmares..are awfully strange," Aeris remarked quietly,  
"...especially those that repeat themselves. I mean, you know what's  
going to happen, and you know how it'll end. but you're still scared  
when you wake up. You know it's all just a nightmare, but you still go  
through it as if it were real."

Vincent finally induced his keen, red eyes to look at her. He  
studied her lovely face from the side while she sighed to herself,  
oblivious of his scrutiny. He did not interrupt her.

"I've lived here for a month now...far away from the Professor  
and that hellish laboratory of his. And yet, he still hunts me down in  
my nightmares...he loves to torture me out of my senses. At times, it  
seems so real, I wake up thinking he's actually caught me. And it's the  
same nightmare, Vincent, over and over again until I burst out crying.  
It's like his way of promising me he'll capture me one day."

Vincent said nothing.

"Last night before I fell asleep, I made a wish," Aeris  
recalled, trying to sound more cheerful, "It's okay. You were so bored  
and tired, you probably don't even...."

"No, I remember," he retorted calmly, "I listened to you the  
whole time, Aeris. You told me you wanted to feel absolutely safe, just  
like you felt at that particular moment."

Aeris bashfully nodded her head (she hadn't quite expected him  
to have been such an attentive listener last night). She finally  
continued in a low but scornful tone, "..yes. That wish...it was such a  
silly thing to say, because I then told you that wherever I hide,  
whether I'm asleep or wide awake, I will always feel the Professor  
around me. I'll always know he'll try to grab me from behind... and drag  
me back. I just wanted that wish to be true so badly...that's why I said  
it. But it's still just a stupid wish."

"I don't think it's 'stupid' at all."

She blinked in surprise at his calm, gentle tone, then looked  
timidly to her side where he sat. In return, Vincent gazed thoughtfully  
into her green eyes, his aloof expression having softened at his own  
remark.

"I used to wish for the same thing every night," he whispered,  
bringing his face closer to hers, "..wishes could be impossible to  
achieve, Aeris, but that doesn't mean that they're 'stupid' or 'silly'."

Aeris looked in silence back at his face. Neither spoke a word.

At last with some effort, Vincent slowly forced himself to  
stand up. As he wandered over to the window, he pulled out his red  
bandanna from his side pocket, and wrapped it around his head several  
times. When he had finished, he peered gloomily through the window pane.  
His back faced Aeris.

The girl sat perfectly still in her spot, studying Vincent's  
tall figure without a word.

"Aeris?" Vincent called coolly.

"Yes?"

"I want to go out for a walk. Would you like to come along?"

Much taken aback by this sudden invitation, Aeris checked the  
clock on the wall, then sprang up.

"Now?! B-but, Vincent, it's nearly ten o'clock!" she protested  
nervously, "Most of the shops are closed, and there's hardly anyone  
outside at this late hour."

On turning to face her, Vincent looked straight into her eyes  
as he calmly said, "I know. That's why I want to go out now."

Aeris stared back at his face for a minute, then deliberately  
answered, "...all right. just give me a moment to change my clothes."

-End of Chp.32

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	30. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.33

Though night had seized the sky long ago, Midgar, proud as always,  
would not completely submit to darkness just yet. The stubborn city  
clung to whatever little life still throbbed in its corners at so late  
an hour.

The grim office buildings towered high above, lighting up Midgar in  
dazzling brilliance. An occasional car zoomed down the streets towards  
home. Lonely passerbys scurried across the pavement, carrying things  
from grocery bags to brief cases. Most shops had locked their doors a  
long while ago, but kept the neon signs lighted outside to attract some  
attention. The bars and nightclubs, on the other hand, rejoiced in this  
darkness. Often when passing such places, rowdy cheers or lively music  
could be heard flowing through the closed doors. Indeed, life in Midgar  
fought to stay vibrant as long as possible.

Aeris and her gloomy companion Vincent strolled along the deserted  
boulevard, neither speaking a word to the other. Their loud footsteps  
re-echoed across the pavement as they journeyed down the black road and  
turned into a narrow side-street. Grey slush, once beautiful white snow,  
lay heaped on both sides of this abandoned street. Tall, sooty tenement  
houses had squeezed themselves along the dismal alley, each with  
shutters closed and doors double locked. An eerie silence clung to the  
cold, still air.

Aeris tightened her scarf around her neck, then edged closer to  
Vincent. In truth, she felt great mistrust, even a strange dread, as  
they strolled through this bleak alleyway.

The two companions finally emerged into the main square of the sector.  
Black shops and empty, closed cafes completely surrounded this place,  
while a broad cobblestone pathway cut straight through it. It was  
unnaturally dark. Yet despite the blackness, the tall lamp posts  
outlining the stony path fought fiercely for their own territory. Their  
brilliant light fell sharply against the black cobblestone road below.

The whole square was a dark land, lighted only by circles of bright  
light, which extended like an endless road to oblivion.

Aeris marched silently by the man's side, glancing around uncomfortably  
at the black surroundings and shapeless shadows. At times, she nearly  
begged Vincent to change their path, but checked herself before she  
could open her mouth. The haunting calmness of the empty square  
certainly discouraged any disruption, more so the pensive silence of her  
gloomy friend. So, she suppressed her own fears, and bore them quietly.

Vincent, on the other hand, seemed to find these ghostly surroundings  
quite normal, if not pleasing to his senses. He walked beside Aeris,  
with his hand thrust deep into the pocket of his long, black coat. His  
sharp metallic claw hung idly by his side, glinting whenever a lamp post  
passed overhead.

He wore a woolly muffler over his mouth and nose, so that his gentle  
breaths appeared as a white smoke dancing through his thick scarf. His  
whole appearance showed deep moroseness. Whenever Aeris chanced to  
glance up at him, she found his bright, red eyes engrossed in dreary  
contemplation.

The two walked on for a long time, following the endless path through  
the dark, lonely square. Aeris stole a timid glance at her cheerless  
friend, then instantly darted her eyes away; she assumed Vincent  
preferred this heavy silence to any kind of conversation. Indeed, the  
morose man never looked at her, not even a quick glance to reassure  
himself of her presence. Nor had he spoken another word after inviting  
the girl to join his night stroll. His mind had lost itself in a winding  
labyrinth of gloomy preoccupations. In fact, Aeris believed Vincent had  
simply forgotten her.

Much to Aeris' surprise, Vincent suddenly halted under a bright lamp  
post and turned slightly around to look at her. He stood in his place,  
letting his keen, piercing eyes search Aeris' confused face for some  
particular indication. Alarmed by his odd behavior but too nervous to  
speak, the girl gazed back at him with scarcely any movement. She did  
not understand the meaning of his look, or his strange silence.

When another minute had passed without either speaking a word, Vincent  
gently pulled down the woolly scarf from over his mouth. His keen eyes  
remained riveted on the girl.

"This is the spot," he remarked coolly at long last, "this is where you  
crashed into me, the first day I met you. It was right here."

Aeris stared at him in disbelief, as if she hadn't understood his  
words. Her eyes, quite eager to recognize the place, darted all around  
the desolate square.

Yet how greatly this dark, quiet place differed from the one in her  
muddled memory. To her mind, confusion, chaos, and unbelievable fear  
marred that horrible night she came crashing into Vincent.

She glanced around herself one last time, but the shapeless shadows and  
grim surroundings did not look familiar. They did not match the blurry  
colors and wild voices in her memory.

"I'm sorry, I..I really can't remember that night very clearly," Aeris  
apologized meekly, peeking up at Vincent with her head bowed, "..I  
remember running... then all of a sudden, I'm sitting on the ground with  
someone crouching infront of me..it must have been you, only I couldn't  
hear your voice, because I was so scared."

Vincent said nothing. They both stood still in their place under the  
lamp post, one struggling with turbulent memories, the other listening  
in silence.

She gave a slight shiver as she continued softly, "..I remember you  
muffled my mouth with your claw..it felt so hard and cold against my  
skin. And... I kind of remember how you killed those men...but.."

Wrestling some painful emotion, Aeris placed one hand over her heart  
and cast her eyes downwards. A very sad expression spread across her  
beautiful face. Her green eyes, in particular, shone with a deep,  
melancholy glow. Though unable to see him, Aeris could sense Vincent's  
crimson eyes fixed straight on her, contemplating something only he knew  
of.

"..but I still can't remember knowing you or anyone else from before,"  
Aeris sighed regretfully, "..you were a perfect stranger to me, even  
though you told me you somehow knew me. But I still can't remember,  
Vincent. when you called me 'Aeris' the first night we met, that name  
didn't sound familiar at all."

She hesitated a moment, thinking perhaps Vincent might comment or ask a  
question. However, the gloomy man contented himself by watching her in  
thoughtful silence.

"..and I literally can't remember a thing of my past either," Aeris  
muttered under her breath, almost as though she didn't want Vincent to  
hear her. She fidgeted uneasily in her spot, turning slightly away to  
avoid his scrutiny, then faltered out in a whisper, "It seems to me,  
I've always lived in the laboratory...with the Professor hanging over  
me."

A very awkward pause followed the instant Aeris finished her sentence.  
She could think of nothing more to add, nor did Vincent appear inclined  
to reply. the still air around them grew heavier in face of such stiff  
silence.

Aeris dared not lift her head for fear of meeting Vincent's red eyes  
riveted on her. A strange shame overcame her because of her pitiful  
inability to recall anything save the brutal tortures of the  
"laboratory". She dropped her clasped hand to her side, awaiting some  
external reaction from her dispassionate companion.

However, Vincent merely turned away and resumed his walk down the  
lighted cobblestone path, more briskly than before. He did not speak or  
even glance behind him.

Aeris blinked in amazement at his silent abruptness, then immediately  
scurried after him.

After clearing the empty square at last, they emerged into a completely  
deserted street. Vincent silently trotted straight across the black  
road, then dodged around a dark corner, followed close behind by Aeris.  
For some reason, his pace quickened as they entered a maze of dismal  
alleyways and dirty backstreets. Vincent marched on, heedless of  
whichever path his feet chose to pursue.

Heavy contemplation, mostly scraps of vague thoughts, weighed him down.  
His whole face had gradually darkened with a deeply pensive expression.  
His keen eyes remained fixed on the passing pavement beneath him,  
completely engrossed in private meditation.

Yet if someone had asked him at that moment what occupied his  
mind...what absorbed his attention so intently, Vincent would have  
undoubtedly fumbled out a soft "I don't know". For in truth, he himself  
hardly understood the meaning of all the busy thoughts churning around  
his brain.

Vincent halted on hearing someone panting softly a short distance  
behind him. He turned around as Aeris, with one hand over her bosom,  
trudged up to him. She stopped right infront of the silent man, then  
bent over so that her hands pushed against her knees. Her chest and back  
heaved with breathless gasps. Her cheeks were flushed pink.

"..I..I'm glad you finally slowed down," Aeris wheezed out when she  
found her voice at last, "..I could barely...keep up with you..the way  
you were rushing on.."

Indeed, so absorbed in his own thoughts, Vincent had simply forgotten  
Aeris behind. He hadn't even noticed how fast his pace had grown during  
his gloomy contemplation. Aeris had to run most of the time just to keep  
up with him.

"Can I..can I please sit down for just a minute?" Aeris begged through  
her gasps. She looked beseechingly up at Vincent.

Most ashamed of his unchivalrous conduct, Vincent immediately nodded  
his head in consent.

They soon discovered a low, stony wall hidden near some dead bushes.  
After sweeping off the snow, Aeris collapsed onto the grey parapet. She  
leaned backwards, supporting herself with both arms outstretched behind  
her. Her weary feet dangled numbly above the pavement. She shut her eyes  
in exhaustion as a tired sigh escaped her. They had been walking for a  
long time; nearly an hour and a half.

Vincent lingered a few steps away from her, with his hand shoved deep  
into his pocket. He eyed the worn-out girl indifferently, then turned  
his sight elsewhere.

Neither spoke a word.

When her breath had steadied once more, Aeris scanned the unfamiliar  
street before her. Incredibly long, this winding road extended from one  
far end to the next. The tall, ornate lamp posts along the path  
flickered a yellowish light across the pavement. Dark boutiques, with  
neon signs still brightly luminant, and locked offices crowded this  
street. Scarcely a sound dared stir the calmness of the cold air.  
Silence lay unchallenged in this quiet place.

They had, in fact, wandered very far from the heart of the sector.  
Vincent had brought them to the lonely outskirts of Midgar,  
unintentionally in all likelihood.

For a long time, Aeris remained silently seated on the low wall. She  
glanced timidly over at Vincent, who stood with his back turned to her,  
then she stared down at her two dangling feet.

"If I ask you a question, Vincent, will you...please answer me  
honestly?" Aeris forced out in a low, hesitant tone.

Though her anxious eyes remained fixed on the ground, Aeris knew  
Vincent had turned his head towards her.

He thought a moment before replying monotonously, "Yes."

"What did you think of me?... I mean, when you knew me from before?"

On hearing the blunt question put so simply before him, Vincent turned  
his head away from the girl. He sunk into a long, grudging silence.

In her anticipation of an answer, Aeris began twiddling her thumbs in  
her lap. Her eyes remained bashfully cast downwards. Already, she  
half-regretted bothering him with such an awkward, ridiculous question.

"I had no real opinion of you," Vincent replied coolly at long last. He  
kept his back to her as he continued, his voice devoid of any emotion,  
"...I knew a bit about you, but I had absolutely no personal involvement  
with you. Tifa was much closer to you. She cried a great deal over you  
when you were stabbed."

Once Aeris had managed to look up at him, she could not tear her eyes  
away. She quietly hopped off the stony wall, but made no motion towards  
him.

Vincent paused a moment before adding with peculiar softness, "..and  
Cloud...he was also very close to you...probably the closest out of  
everyone. You two spent a lot of your time together, and he always tried  
his best to protect you. When you were stabbed, he was mad with rage,  
but the tears were streaming down his cheeks at the same time."

She did not interrupt him.

"But it wouldn't be fair of me to express any opinion about you, Aeris.  
I hardly knew you, and you never came near me. our acquaintance never  
exceeded a polite exchange of names."

The girl hesitated a long time, her eyes still riveted on him.  
Vincent's back remained turned to her.

"...what about you?" Aeris asked him gently, "When I was stabbed... and  
everyone thought I had died...what did you do?"

Vincent plunged into another deep, thoughtful silence.

Aeris stood in her spot, facing this gloomy man's back without a word.  
Although the question had blurted out of her mouth by accident, she  
stared intently at him in wait of the answer.

"I didn't do anything," Vincent stated dispassionately, turning his  
head around all of a sudden, "When you were stabbed, I looked down at  
you once, then walked away. I never looked back again."

Aeris gazed at his cold, stoic face. Somehow, she wasn't too surprised  
with the blunt reply.

However, his callous answer had invited a very awkward silence to  
sprout between them. Vincent stood tall and erect before Aeris, his  
crimson eyes shining brightly at her in perfect coolness. Yet at the  
same time, those eyes gleamed with a peculiar glow Aeris found quite  
puzzling. An entirely different matter, far more important, seemed to  
weigh down on his mind.

But if any burdensome thoughts troubled Vincent, he refused to share  
even a glimpse of them with anyone save himself. He immediately tore his  
eyes away from the girl.

"Let's go," he mumbled as he resumed his path down the deserted street.  
He did not even glance behind him.

Great concern swelled her heart as Aeris watched Vincent move away. She  
quickly dashed after him, then on reaching his side, steadied her pace  
to match his. They walked on as silently as before.

No one spoke a word. They strolled all the way down the winding street,  
and passed the stone bridge which arched high above the rusty train  
tracks below. Engrossed once again in glum meditation, Vincent walked  
absent-mindedly along the path. Aeris marched silently by his side, yet  
avoided looking up at him for fear of annoying him.

The two companions walked a long time through the dark, cold streets.  
They passed houses enshrouded in darkness, their inhabitants blissfully  
sound asleep. They marched through the unfamiliar, bleak alleyways  
hidden in shadows. A bitter coldness hung about the still air.

While Aeris wondered where their long-winded path would eventually end,  
Vincent walked these black roads with perfect indifference. Perhaps he  
had already walked theses streets before; or maybe, being so absorbed in  
his private thoughts, he cared not which way he followed. Either case,  
he plodded on with scarcely lifting his pensive eyes up to note his  
path.

"Vincent, what's that?" Aeris asked suddenly. She touched his arm  
lightly to make him stop.

They found themselves standing before the grand entrance of some dark,  
frozen park. A high stone wall languidly stretched itself from one end  
of the street to the next. Hard, barren tree branches reached out over  
this stony structure, as if beseeching any kind passerby to free them of  
this wretched prison. Pink glass lanterns had been fitted into the grey  
wall, thus lighting this lonely street against the cold night. White  
snow lay everywhere: it burdened the stiff branches of the trees, and  
piled up against the stony wall, sometimes reaching half-way up.

The "park" inside this high wall had enshrouded itself in darkness and  
grim shadows. The calmness outside its heavy stone walls could not match  
the deathly silence within.

Aeris, still holding onto Vincent's arm, beheld this mysterious place  
with an ominous feeling of apprehension. Vincent stood calmly by her  
side without a word. A profoundly thoughtful expression had darkened his  
face, adding a touch of sadness to his already gloomy appearance.

"...these are the 'Snow Fields'," Vincent replied unemotionally at  
last. He peered down at the girl beside him.

"...'Snow...Fields'..??" Aeris re-echoed softly, staring back at him in  
confusion.

Vincent nodded his head once before suddenly taking the girl's hand in  
his. He immediately led her straight through the huge entrance, and down  
the winding pathway. Aeris, scarcely realizing what this man was doing,  
followed him without a word of protest.

They had entered the "park".

-End of Chp.33

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	31. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.34

When the heart aches in painful misery, yet has no soul to comfort  
it...what happens then?

Whether a warm light shining within the heart, or simply an aura bound  
to the flesh, the human soul bears an amazing web of complexity. It  
unfolds into an endless labyrinth of different emotions, hidden  
thoughts, and dark secrets.

Yet surprisingly, the human soul also possesses an almost childlike  
simplicity to its nature. At its inner most core lies the profoundest of  
truths, so obvious yet somehow overlooked. At its centre hides the  
heart's simplest but most powerful emotions.

The human soul is so confoundingly mysterious, yet at the same time so  
artlessly plain.

This uncanny paradox is probably why the heart often draws near the  
soul in times of trouble. In its aching need for solace during pain, the  
heart often searches the soul for guidance, just like a compass.

But what happens to those who, whether on purpose or by sheer accident,  
simply have no souls in their hearts?

When there is no soul to seek comfort in during suffering.. what then?  
When the heart is torn to shreds by grief and pain, yet finds no solace  
or succor...what then?

Do such soulless creatures hide away from the world outside, preferring  
the lonely, gloomy one inside? Do they pine away in a corner all alone,  
tormented by despair?

Or do they simply roam the wasteland of wretched misery inside their  
own empty, frozen hearts?

Perhaps that is why they call themselves "monsters".

Vincent led Aeris by the hand down a long-winded gravel path. He walked  
quickly and silently, scarcely paying attention to anything save the  
black road ahead. Aeris, being held in his gentle but firm grip,  
followed him without a word. Something in the air of this cold, dark  
park discouraged any disturbance, even a simple question like "where are  
we going?".

Therefore, the timid girl contented herself with the silence.

The stony pathway snaked through this forest-like park, very often  
forking into other smaller roads. Pea-green lamp posts outlined one side  
of the path; they cast a feeble, yellow light against the hard ground.

Tall, lifeless trees, some twisted with old age, thronged along the  
gravel road to welcome the new visitors. Leafless and quite brittle,  
their branches hungrily reached out in all directions. Some stretched up  
to the black sky; others entwined with each other to form an arbor. This  
magnificent canopy of dead branches, frozen twigs, and hard vines arched  
high above the gravel pathway below.

In its greedy quest for land, the white snow had smothered the whole  
park underneath save, of course, for the stony path. A biting chilliness  
clung to the still air. The peaceful calmness that lingered about this  
dark place nearly resembled that of a haunted graveyard.

The two walked a long time through this quiet forest-park, neither  
speaking a word to the other. Eventually during the journey, Vincent  
slowed his pace down to an easy stroll. He never glanced back at the  
girl, even though he still held her hand. Nor did he seem fully aware or  
even caring of the path he followed. In truth, his mind had returned to  
the same vague, gloomy thoughts which had been pestering him all night.

When she had marveled enough at the eerie surroundings, Aeris peeked  
cautiously at Vincent. His face from the side struck her as extremely  
melancholy, if not mournfully absorbed in dreary contemplation. However,  
on perceiving his glum mood, Aeris thought it best to remain quiet.

They wandered for a considerable time along different pathways until  
Vincent, for some reason, took an obscure sidetrack down the hill. This  
black road cut straight through an impressive thicket of trees. No lamp  
post lighted this hidden road; it was extremely dark.

Nevertheless, Vincent marched through the darkness with a surprisingly  
calm and confident step. He tightened his grip on the girl's hand, but  
never once looked at her.

Suddenly, the throng of trees along one side of this endless, beaten  
track ended, and the two lonely companions emerged into the open again.  
Vincent at last released Aeris' hand, then stopped exactly one step away  
from her. His back was turned to her.

"Look," he ordered curtly with a careless gesture.

Puzzled by his odd manner, Aeris obeyed the command. Her eyes turned to  
the far side of the path, where he had motioned.

Much to her silent wonder, Aeris found herself standing before a  
barren, open field of snow. This lonely field hugged one end of the  
arborous hillside, then lazily spread itself far beyond the horizon.  
Not a single tree or brave shrub disturbed the rolling landscape. Far  
from it, this pitiful field had fallen victim to emptiness and sad  
despair.

Yet despite its lonesome desolation, the field also bore a strange,  
almost unnatural, beauty about it. It stretched for endless miles into  
the far, far distance, inducing a feeling of fearful awe to the barren  
vastness. A thick blanket of impeccable snow smothered the entire field  
end to end, thereby depriving any life a chance of survival.

The snow's saintly whiteness contrasted sharply with the blackness of  
the night. So much so that the snowy, winter-ridden field below shone in  
dazzling beauty against the dark sky high above.

A peaceful tranquility, quite pleasing to the senses, loomed about  
this wonderful place. Sadly, death and lonely emptiness also haunted the  
cold field. Not a life thrived in its vast quarters; not a sound stirred  
its heavy silence.

To be sure, it was a marvelous wasteland, but nevertheless,  
a wasteland.

Aeris certainly did not even try to conceal her wonderment. Her bright  
green eyes lingered on the snow-laden field, dazzled by its striking  
purity.

"This public garden was built about a year ago," Vincent recounted  
softly, eying the snowy wasteland with mild curiosity, "But by the time  
they had actually finished construction and planting, it was already  
winter."

Aeris looked at him but did not interrupt.

"The snow fell very hard that year, and completely covered these fields  
for the whole season. So, they nicknamed this place  
'the Snow Fields'."

When he had thus concluded, Vincent relapsed into his strange moody  
silence. His back remained coldly turned to the girl, but his keen eyes  
had fixed themselves on the white wasteland. He spoke no more.

As if obeying some beckoning call, Aeris suddenly stepped off the stony  
gravel pathway, and wandered into the open snow fields up ahead. She  
trudged through the heavy snow, watching in almost childish fascination  
her boots leave a deep trail of footprints behind. Aeris had drifted  
only a short distance when she halted at last. She stood perfectly still  
in her spot, completely surrounded by wintry wilderness.

A deep sense of peace gradually overcame her heart.

From his spot over at the gravel pathway, Vincent studied Aeris' lonely  
figure against the pure-white landscape. The girl stood by herself,  
unaware of his thoughtful scrutiny. Her shining eyes lingered on the  
vast, white wasteland before her.

She heard Vincent slowly plod through the heavy snow towards her, but  
did not turn around to face him. Vincent halted a few steps behind her;  
he did not speak.

"The snow here is so white," Aeris admired at last.

"That's because it's far away from the smoke and soot of the city  
centre," Vincent replied casually.

The girl paused a long time before slowly sitting down in the snow.  
Regardless of wetness or coldness, Aeris huddled both feet together, and  
drew her knees up to her chest. Her arms encircled her slender legs as  
she studied the frozen landscape ahead.

Vincent glanced indifferently at the girl thus seated in the snow, then  
looked away.

"It's beautiful here...and very quiet," Aeris whispered, more to  
herself that to anyone else.

The morose man did not reply.

"How does this place look like in the springtime?"

"All sorts of flowers bloom here."

"Really?!" she exclaimed in surprise, looking up at him.

Vincent nodded his head as an answer.

"I'd love to see it."

Aeris turned her head away to gaze at the barren landscape, trying her  
best to picture the flowers in springtime. Vincent still lingered some  
steps behind her. He glanced down at the girl for a moment, then looked  
away again, this time to the far side of this endless field.

"But personally, I prefer the snow," Vincent forced out.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I've always liked the snow better."

On hearing his strange, soft tone, Aeris turned her head around, and  
peered from over her shoulder up at this man. Vincent, however, avoided  
her look. His bright, deep crimson eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the  
snow-ridden fields.

His tall, lonesome figure struck Aeris as unnaturally aloof and  
detached. Even the way he stood, with his sharp metallic claw hanging by  
his side, showed how withdrawn his nature truly was. Vincent's face  
betrayed a sad yet profound thoughtfulness. Some heavy matter seemed to  
weigh down on his mind.

Aeris turned her focus back to the wasted wilderness.

"Y'know, Vincent," she remarked meaningfully, "..these snow fields are  
very much like yourself.."

A very, very long silence followed.

Although she did not look behind, Aeris knew the unexpected comment had  
surprised Vincent greatly. She could even sense his thoughtful eyes  
lingering on her back.

At long last, Vincent walked up to the girl, and sat down in the snow  
right by her side. He did not seem to mind this wet, cold spot. His  
whole face darkened in gloomy meditation as the heavy silence stretched  
itself further and further.

"Aeris, I want to tell you something," Vincent finally declared, rather  
reluctantly.

The girl looked at him without a word; His strange tone certainly  
commanded absolute silence. But Vincent still would not look at her. His  
eyes remained rigidly focused on the far distance.

He took a deep breath before beginning softly, "There are many...'bad'  
things I've done in my past. Many things you'll never know about. Some  
of them you'd think evil, cruel, even inhuman....and you'd be absolutely  
right for thinking so too."

He gazed down at both his gloved hand and metallic claw. He seemed,  
while speaking so gently, to detect something only visible to his own  
eyes.

"See, my hands bloody with so many crimes and sins...no amount of  
cleaning can wash the stain out."

He slowly lifted his hallow eyes straight up to the black, starry sky  
high above. Millions of tiny stars had scattered themselves across the  
heavens, sparkling like diamonds against black silk. The bright moon,  
round as a perfect pearl, hung in the middle of the sky. It showered the  
barren snow fields below with its gentle moonlight.

Vincent brooded a long time up at these wondrous works of heaven. He  
had plunged into another long, deep silence. Aeris gazed keenly at his  
face from the side, but did not disturb his meditation. A strange  
anxiety troubled her as she sensed him sink deeper into sadness.

"On the very first day I became delirious, I remember I attacked you,"  
Vincent recalled suddenly but with strange calmness, "..yes..I remember  
I pinned you to the ground."

"N-no, Vincent,' the girl faltered in alarm, "That wasn't your..."

"I felt so angry at you, Aeris, because you wouldn't call me a monster.  
In my whole life, I don't think I've ever been angrier than at that one  
moment. I just wanted to hear you say 'Vincent, you are a monster'."

Aeris looked concernedly at him, yet made no reply. Vincent did not  
return her anxious look. He sat perfectly still by her side, intently  
absorbed into the brilliant canopy of stars hanging above him.

"I was so angry at you because you wouldn't see the truth," he  
whispered, a tone of bitter resentment playing on his voice, "It angered  
me so much that you thought me some kind of holy saint, even though you  
knew nothing...absolutely nothing about my past.. maybe..maybe it still  
angers me."

He dropped his weary eyes from the black sky down to the snowy white  
fields below. He paid no heed to the silent Aeris, who gazed at the side  
of his face in great worry. Slowly, Vincent shut his eyes.

His mind raced past so many memories so quickly, he could scarcely  
grasp their meaning.

"But while I was raving with that fever, Aeris, I was having this  
horrible nightmare," Vincent muttered, his eyes still closed,  
"...I was literally re-living my past...I was like an actor performing a  
play..."

His mind hopped madly from one memory to another: President ShinRa's  
bloated face...Gerald and Cindy, the other two Turks... the quaint  
Nibelheim village...

"..and when I remember that nightmare...I wasn't a holy saint or an  
angel, Aeris.."

His mind, completely out of control, flashed past Professor Hojo's lean  
face, with those shiny glasses propped on his long nose....he saw  
Davoren's face smile affably back at him, like he always used to.....

"..In that nightmare..I was a monster...a demon.."

He zoomed past so many memories at once, hardly making sense of them,  
until suddenly he froze on Lucrecia's beloved face. In his mind, he  
could see her soft eyes stare straight at him in silent, reproachful  
sadness, just as she had looked before her sad death....

Vincent forced his eyes open to escape the painful reverie. He stared  
solemnly at the barren wasteland before him. For a long time, he  
wallowed in the silence. Though fully aware of the girl's presence next  
to him, as well as her concerned eyes fixed on his face, he did not even  
glance at her.

"I'm not blaming you for thinking of me like that, Aeris," he murmured  
softly, "You weren't there...in my nightmares..you didn't see me for  
what I really was. If you did...you wouldn't think me such a wonderful  
person, and you wouldn't think Davoren such an evil man.."

"That's not true, Vincent!" Aeris cried indignantly, appalled by such a  
thought, "He IS an evil man! Why, he..."

"No, Davoren was a very, very good man...he was much better than I will  
ever be...."

Aeris stared in disbelief at such praise.

"We were both Turks, that's true. But Aeris, Davoren was also a kind  
human being, and I was..well..a monster. Davoren... he somehow kept a  
soul alive inside of him, even amidst all the crimes and bloodshed.  
Me..I just never had a soul to begin with. I was just a bloody  
killing-machine that blindly obeyed orders."

For the first time, Vincent looked straight into Aeris' eyes. The girl  
stared back at him with concern, but also with another emotion he could  
not quite place.

"I don't want you to think I'm like these snow fields...all pure and  
innocent, just like their whiteness," he sighed in conclusion, "I'm not  
the wonderful saint you dreamed up in your fantasies. In reality, I'm  
the total opposite. That's the simple truth."

He turned his face away from her, and fell into thoughtful silence once  
again. Irritation seemed to trouble his mind; he knit his brows as he  
sunk into his usual gloomy moroseness.

"But that's not what I meant when I said you were like these snow  
fields, Vincent," Aeris corrected gently after a long hesitation, "I  
didn't mean you were 'pure' or 'innocent' at all."

Baffled by her mysterious words, Vincent stared at her from the corner  
of his eye. The girl returned his quizzical look with an enigmatic  
smile, then turned to the desolate wasteland. A very serious yet sad  
expression spread across her face as she stared into the far distance.

"When you look at these huge fields, Vincent, you see them buried  
under frost, ice, and so much snow," Aeris spoke at last in a soft  
undertone, "..the fields are so cold, and so empty. Everything is frozen  
dead, you'd think nothing can ever grow there."

Vincent did not answer.

"But you said in the springtime, the flowers bloom here. So, something  
was able to grow in these fields after all. There was life hidden  
underneath, only you didn't see it."

She paused a moment to reflect upon her thoughts, but never once  
diverted her eyes off the snowy, wasted fields.

"I don't know exactly what 'bad' things you've done in your past. They  
probably were evil and inhuman. I don't know what you did to  
Lucrecia..the..woman you love; you're still in pain over her, and maybe  
you should be. You say you never had a soul to begin with...and that you  
were a killing-machine... maybe you're right. I have no way of knowing  
for sure. I wasn't with you in that nightmare..."

Aeris suddenly looked again at the silent Vincent. Her bright green  
eyes shone with loving kindness as a gentle smile lit up her face.

"But I still don't believe you when you tell me you're a monster,  
Vincent. When you look inside yourself, you see all these snow fields:  
your heart's frozen dead, and there's no warm place for anything to grow  
among all the ice and cold. But see, that's where you're wrong and I'm  
right. Somewhere underneath all that snow, there's something new that  
wasn't there before...or maybe it was there all along, only you simply  
didn't know you had it. That's why you're not a monster in my eyes."

He said nothing.

"You think because I'm a child compared to you, I wouldn't know that  
much," Aeris added in a hushed whisper, bringing her face very close to  
his, "..you've been through many, many things in your own life, while  
I've lived whatever I remember of mine trapped in a dingy laboratory.  
So, in a way, you're right about that; you do know a lot more than me.  
But I know some things too, Vincent....and I know what's beneath the  
snow fields."

A heavy silence followed.

Vincent narrowed his eyes thoughtfully on the girl, his whole  
countenance expressing nothing but cool reservedness. In contrast,  
Aeris' lovely face beamed with gentler kindness the longer she gazed  
into his deep-crimson eyes. An almost prophetic air seemed to surround  
her.

When perhaps a minute had passed, Vincent finally stood up. He flapped  
the snow off his long, black coat, then turned his eyes down on the  
girl.

"It's getting late," he remarked without emotion, "We should be getting  
back home now."

He extended his hand out to Aeris, who readily accepted it. After  
pulling herself up, she carefully wiped the snow off her bottom and  
legs.

Soon, they were walking up the stony gravel pathway once again.

-End of Chp.34

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	32. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.35

Time had long passed midnight, instilling an even deadlier silence into  
the chilly air. At such a late hour, where endless darkness and grim  
shadows ran amuck, night had spread its vast wings clear across the  
sky.

In return, the frozen, deserted park down below had grown more still  
and ghostly than before. For any passerby looking up, the barren tree  
branches extended like thin, black arms overhead. Many pathways and  
corners disappeared into obscurity. Indeed, the meek, winter-ridden  
garden had humbly succumbed to the night's terrible decree.

The two companions slowly strolled up the gravel pathway in absolute  
silence. Their lonely footsteps re-echoed loudly in the still air,  
adding a feeling of haunted desolation to the place. Vincent led the way  
through several narrow side roads and dark arbors, followed close behind  
by Aeris. Often times, he chose pathways which extended through an eerie  
forest of dark, shapeless shadows; he hardly pursued the broad, lighted  
ones. Perhaps he simply felt more comfortable in the dark.

The air stung with such bitter coldness, Vincent had muffled his mouth  
again under his woolly scarf. His keen eyes gleamed brightly in the  
dark, as if engrossed in deep, profound contemplation. Both arms had  
been stiffly folded across his chest to bar out the chilly air.

Yet in spite of the cold, the bleak darkness, and ghostly silence,  
Vincent seemed to find such a morbid atmosphere quite pleasing to his  
gloomy thoughts. He strolled with a steady, easy step through the  
deserted forest-park, heedless of the strange shadows that surrounded  
him from every direction. He never looked at the girl behind him, not  
even a quick glance to check on her; nor had he spoken another word  
since leaving the "Snow Fields". He was completely aloof.

Aeris quietly followed the man, her eyes timidly lowered down to the  
ground. She made no objections to any grim path Vincent picked (although  
she would have much preferred the brighter ones). Nor would she dream of  
even speaking for fear of disturbing his train of thought. In truth, his  
mood had grown so morose, Aeris preferred to be silent rather than  
arouse his annoyance with talk.

They walked thus for a long time through the park, passing so many  
leafless trees and following endless stone paths. The winding road  
extended into the black distance, often times merging into other  
sidepaths.

Though Vincent walked at a reasonably slow pace, Aeris found it  
increasingly difficult to keep up with him. Her feet ached miserably;  
her legs felt slightly sluggish. Vincent marched silently on, while poor  
Aeris lagged a step or two behind, occasionally rubbing her temples in  
exhaustion. Indeed, such a long stroll, across virtually the entire  
sector, had drained the girl.

"Are you feeling sleepy?" Vincent asked all of a sudden, stopping in  
his spot. He turned his head around to look at the startled girl.

"Eh?! Oh no," Aeris faltered confusedly, halting right behind him,  
"..I..I'm just a bit..tired, that's all."

She fidgeted in her spot, very uncomfortable with his thoughtful eyes  
lingering on her face. Vincent turned fully around to face the girl.

"If you're too tired to walk anymore, Aeris, I don't mind carrying  
you," he suggested softly.

"Of course not, Vincent!" she immediately refused, a light blush  
coloring her cheeks, "I'm fine...r-really!"

Though Aeris smiled to disperse his worries, Vincent still gazed  
thoughtfully down at her. He had easily detected the heavy fatigue  
playing on her voice, as well as a tired nervousness in the way she  
fumbled before him.

In his own mind, Vincent sorely berated himself for extending his night  
stroll to such a late hour, knowing the girl would eventually tire; more  
so for neglecting her while engrossing himself in private contemplation.

Without a word, Vincent extended his metallic arm out for Aeris to  
take, keeping his eyes fixed on her lovely face. In her surprise at the  
gesture, Aeris stared at the shiny, sharp object, then up at his  
expressionless face. After some hesitation, she slowly slipped her arms  
around his metal arm.

They soon resumed their path up the stony road, passing through a dark  
forest of stout, snow-laden trees and barren shrubberies. Out of kind  
consideration for the tired girl, Vincent purposely walked with an even  
slower pace to make sure she never lagged behind again.

Aeris walked very closely by his side, feeling nervously apprehensive  
of his cold, metallic arm snuggled between her two slender arms. Yet at  
the same time, she eyed it with cautious curiosity; she had never  
willingly touched his claw before.

"Y'know, I remember how much your claw used to frighten me," Aeris  
remarked softly. She tapped the claw once, then added under her breath,  
"..sometimes, it still does."

Vincent marched on without a reply.

"That night we first met, you muffled my mouth with it, and ever since,  
I get so nervous just looking at it, let alone touching it," Aeris  
smiled weakly to herself, "..it's so sharp..and feels so hard and  
cold.."

"It was quite heavy at first too," Vincent interjected coolly without  
looking at her, "and very awkward for me to handle. I couldn't move my  
arm at all, not even a finger, because I had no idea how...or maybe, I  
was simply too scared to try."

Aeris hesitantly peeked up at him, then lowered her eyes again.

"But eventually, I got used to it," he concluded simply, "I just  
pretended it was a normal arm, not a claw."

"Still..," the tender girl whispered compassionately,  
"..it must have been painful all the same."

With that kind comfort, Aeris gently tightened her grip around his hard  
arm, even though she knew he could not feel the touch.

Suddenly, Vincent froze still in his spot.

Puzzled by his abrupt behavior, Aeris stared up at him without  
releasing his metallic arm. Vincent, however, seemed to have utterly  
forgotten her presence. His keen, ruby-red eyes glared suspiciously at  
the road up ahead. His ears, pricked up in suspicious alertness,  
listened attentively to the air. He did not speak a word.

Aeris looked in the same direction which had so completely absorbed his  
attention: nothing. The trees were perfectly still; the air cold and  
quiet; the pathway empty. She let go of his arm.

"What's the matter?" she asked in fearful concern.

He made no reply, except narrow his bright eyes on the road. He seemed  
to see something...or someone only visible to him.

"V..Vincent?" she faltered out nervously, "What's wrong with.."

"Sh!" he ordered firmly, yanking her whole body closer to himself. His  
senses grew sharper by the second.

He had distinctly heard footsteps...many footsteps.

Much to Aeris' astonishment, Vincent quickly encircled her waist with  
his metallic arm, then immediately dashed for a dark thicket of trees on  
the side of the road. He easily hopped across the snow, landing safely  
behind some frozen hedges. With the girl securely tucked under his  
armpit and her mouth muffled, Vincent stooped cautiously as he crept his  
way along the bushes. He headed straight up to a large, stout tree.

This knotted tree, its barky roots gripped firmly into the snowy  
ground, stood with other such venerable trees in complete darkness. Its  
clumsy branches stretched out in all directions, intertwining around  
other braches so convolutedly, even the bright moonlight could not  
penetrate through. Pitch black shadows infested this thicket of trees.  
Absolute darkness ruled supreme.

No sooner had Vincent reached the stout tree, than he huddled against  
its rough bark. He instantly embraced the confused Aeris all to himself,  
pressing his metallic claw against her back to secure her body.

The darkness obscured the two completely. Vincent appeared as a very  
tall, black shadow, with deep crimson eyes glaring ever so suspiciously.  
He never once peeked around the tree or flinched a muscle, but kept his  
arm securely wrapped around the girl. He was perfectly silent.

Aeris had been swept away by Vincent with scarcely understanding the  
reason. From his tense, mistrustful behavior, she gathered the man had  
somehow detected something "bad" in the air. And he pressed her so  
tightly against himself, as if fearing this evil force might snatch her  
away any moment. The loathsome image of Davoren immediately flashed  
across her mind.

Against such a sinister face as that brutal gunman's, poor Aeris could  
not help but tremble. At the possible prospect of experiencing another  
bloody battle, or worse, of being forcefully returned to her hateful  
tormentor the "Professor", her trembling turned to violent shivering.

Sensing her obvious fright, Vincent nestled Aeris as deeply as possible  
into his open, long black coat. He gently pressed her head against his  
chest.

"I don't think he's with them," he assured in a barely audible whisper,  
"Just be quiet and hide your face."

Aeris nodded once. She buried her full face further into his coat, and  
did not move. Vincent, keeping his hand against her head, huddled  
himself deeper into the thick darkness. He was perfectly still.

The heavy silence in the park was unnatural. For a seemingly long time,  
everything was dead.

At long last, faint, very distant footsteps broke the stuffy stillness.  
They grew steadily louder and louder as their mysterious owners  
cautiously approached this path. Vincent still avoided peeking for fear  
of betraying his dark hideout. He kept his bright eyes fixed down on the  
girl snuggled in his arms, but focused all his attention on the  
movements of this unidentified enemy.

From the scuffling of their heavy boots, Vincent guessed three, maybe  
four men had reached this road. He automatically assumed they carried  
loaded guns ready to fire on the least suspicion. When he heard a very  
faint "bleep", Vincent realized these men had fitted transmitter radios  
into their ears. If so, then they wanted to stay in contact with each  
other, which ultimately meant that there were more men on the prowl in  
this park; and more men meant more guns.

But was Davoren with them?

Vincent sensed the men shuffle about here and there in search of  
something. They spread out in all directions off the gravel road,  
trudging as quietly as possible through the heavy snow. He heard the  
thick hedges across the pathway being roughly examined. Another man  
crept suspiciously along the trees by the roadside. One man in  
particular, rather large and muscular, wandered very closely to the  
dense thicket of stout trees. Luckily, Vincent had concealed himself so  
well in the bleak darkness, and the brawny man did not search that  
attentively, so he passed on by without noticing anything unusual.

These armed men spent almost a quarter of an hour in their intensive  
search. They scoured the entire road, checking the narrow sidetracks and  
scanning the territory.

During this painfully long time, Vincent neither flinched a muscle nor  
lifted his eyes off the girl, even when he came so close to discovery.  
Whenever poor Aeris trembled (undoubtedly remembering Davoren), Vincent  
gently stroked her hair to soothe her distress. His hard metal arm  
remained protectively pressed against her back.

Finally, assuming all was in its normal order, the men returned to the  
deserted stone path. They met again at the very beginning of the road.

"Nothing here," confirmed one gruff voice, obviously into his  
transmitter radio.

Vincent heard a "bleep", then another voice answer through the device,  
"Roger that. We'll take the north part, the other team will take the  
section further down. You search the area again."

"I just told you, there's noth.."

"..and Mr. Davoren's orders are we search each area twice, second time  
more closely. Now go!"

That argument thus settled, Vincent heard the transmitter rudely  
closed. One of the men began to hurl out a string of violent oaths.

"Goddamn bastard!" the gruff voice cursed, stamping his foot in anger,  
"Just because Davoren gave him the orders, he acts like some big time  
hot-shot!!"

"Sh! Keep your voice down," begged a gentle voice, "Mr. Davoren said  
this guy we're supposed to catch is really, really dangerous. He could  
be hiding anywhere, even here."

"Oh, gimme a break!! Like that freak with the claw is really hiding  
from us in the park. How would Davoren know where this guy is, anyway?"

"Well, y'know," coughed a deep voice importantly, almost with a  
superior air, "Mr. Davoren has his own 'special' ways. I personally think  
he used to be a professional assassin, or maybe a spy.."

"Like shit you'd know!!" the gruff voice retorted rudely,  
"He could be the friggin' devil, with those weird eyes of his.... gives  
me the creeps! Damn man! If he wasn't paying us so much, I wouldn't give  
a...."

"Sh!Sh! Keep it down!" the same gentle voice pleaded nervously.

"Anyway, orders are orders," commanded a husky voice which hadn't  
spoken before, "...and the money he's paying is damn worth it too.  
Search the area again."

"Okay," grumbled the gruff voice, "but I never been wrong before, and I  
tell ya: no freak with a claw or a little girl is here in this park."

Vincent cautiously peeked around the ancient tree, then instantly hid  
his face again: There were four mercenaries, all armed. One wore a  
bright blue kerchief and a heavy, open coat; his rugged face looked very  
dirty in the feeble lamp light. Another man, of a lean appearance,  
carried two guns and an army knife. The muscular mercenary who had  
previously passed by wore a red scarf around his thick neck and three  
bandoleers across his brawny chest; he peevishly held a huge assault  
rifle between his paws. The last man, short with curly red hair, darted  
his nervous eyes from one corner to another in paranoid suspicion.

Soon, The armed men silently resumed their search along this empty  
road. They scattered off the gravel path again, and began slowly and  
meticulously inspecting every inch of the territory. The brittle bushes  
were savagely kicked; each tree along and beyond the roadside was  
searched; the dark sidetracks were re-checked, this time with greater  
care.

Vincent frowned in apprehension: if these men had, indeed, intensified  
their search, then it would be a mere matter of minutes before they  
uncovered this hideout.

Immediately but with forced calmness, Vincent bent forward until his  
mouth lay right by Aeris' ear. He did not loosen his grip around her, or  
even lift his hand off her head.

"Aeris, listen to me," Vincent whispered very, very softly through his  
woolly muffler, "I want you to stay right here in this spot, okay? I'll  
only be gone for a short while."

When she had somehow brought all her fears and chaotic thoughts under  
control, Aeris nodded her head in consent. Vincent gently tore her away  
from his body, then leaned her back against the knotted tree. Her  
anxious eyes fixed themselves right on Vincent's face, even though the  
stuffy darkness completely obscured his features. In return, he gazed  
down at her for a moment, then abruptly turned away.

Without another look behind, Vincent noiselessly slipped out of the  
thicket of trees. He crept as stealthily as a cat along the frozen  
hedges, keeping his back sharply bent and head very low. His hand  
mechanically reached for his gun. It felt so cold between his hot  
fingers.

Based on those men's conversation, Vincent was now almost sure  
Davoren had not accompanied them on this mission. Most likely, the  
ruthless gunman had simply hired these mercenaries on condition they  
follow his orders to the letter: find the little girl and retrieve her  
unharmed; find "the freak with the claw" and retrieve him...dead or  
alive (probably better dead).

But a deep suspicion played on Vincent's mind: how, as one of the men  
had plainly pointed out, had Davoren known where to find Vincent? The  
man certainly possessed a wise and evilly cunning nature, but he was  
definitely not psychic. Vincent suspected no spy or informer either;  
both Cloud and Tifa had proven themselves loyal friends many times, and  
they were the only two who knew for sure of Vincent's whereabouts. If  
so, then how could Davoren possibly know?

However, the instant he neared one of the armed men, Vincent  
automatically stopped thinking.

-End of Chp.35

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	33. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.36

Vincent instantly hid behind a sturdy tree, and held his breath in  
restrained anticipation.

Cautiously and with great stealth, he had crept all the way from his  
dark hideout, stooping low along the frozen hedges, and dashing  
noiselessly from one tree to another. His heavy boots made no sound in  
the thick snow. The cold gun felt quite comfortable in his tight grip.

Vincent had snuck farther up the long black road, through a low, woody  
area, when he detected an enemy close by. With redoubled stealthiness,  
he glued his back against the nearest tree, and was perfectly silent.

His keen eyes inspected the grim surroundings: this barren lowland  
snuggled comfortably along the foot of a hillock, separated by a crude  
wooden fence. The main gravel pathway extended over the hilltop, so that  
anyone wishing to descend into this low area needed to climb down a  
rocky slope first, then pass the fence.

Hundreds of black trees infested the land, their grappling roots  
buried under deep snow. Countless bushes and shrubberies, all thick and  
quite bare, scattered across the wasted lowland. They thronged around  
trees, or clustered together in silent misery.

Being thus so crowded with dead trees and brittle bushes, a heavy  
darkness loomed about this low woodland. It was an endless maze of black  
shadows, some twisting into the most grotesque shapes. The cold air was  
deathly calm.

From his hidden spot behind the tree, Vincent could sense one of the  
mercenaries shuffle about here and there in a thorough search. The man,  
with his gun undoubtedly ready to fire, cautiously examined any  
suspicious shrub and checked around all trees in his path. He made no  
indication, at least not audible, that he had heard Vincent sneak into  
this area.

A full five minutes dragged by. Vincent did not move a muscle. His back  
remained glued to the tree, his ears intently concentrated on the  
enemy's movements.

Vincent tensed as he heard the armed man wander near his hideout.  
Fortunately, the darkness seemed too ghostly, and the silence so heavy,  
the mercenary decided not to carry his search further into these bleak  
woods. Besides, they had combed the area just minutes ago; how could  
anyone possibly slip into here in such a short time unheard and  
unnoticed?

Thus assured, the man retreated back through the woody area. He walked  
with his back openly turned to the dark woodlands.

As the unsuspecting mercenary wandered away, Vincent stealthily peeked  
around the tree: it was the man with the blue kerchief and dirty, rugged  
face.

He's wearing a bullet-proof coat, Vincent reflected to himself, and I'm  
sure the others have bullet-proof vests too....

Vincent narrowed his cold eyes, then noiselessly dashed from his  
hideout to another tree close by. He huddled his side against the  
knotted bark, drawing his gun across his chest in wait of the "right  
moment".

A very faint, dull pain prickled his lungs. Vincent sensed a violent  
coughing fit not too far away. Already, his forehead felt a little  
feverish.

He peeked again, barely enough for one eye to look around the tree. The  
mercenary, still suspecting nothing, had halted at the foot of the  
hillock, right behind the simple wooden fence. His back completely faced  
Vincent. Another man stood on the hilltop, where the main road passed  
over. The two were talking loudly.

"Find anything?" asked the man on the hilltop. Vincent recognized him  
as the nervous, short mercenary with curly red hair.

"Naw, nothing here," assured the other man, "I checked the whole  
area...no freak with a claw or little girly."

"You sure you checked right?"

"Yep. If there WAS anyone, I would've heard it. My ears are pretty  
sharp, y'know."

Vincent slowly extended his arm out, and pointed his gun at the back of  
the unwary man's head.

"You checked those bushes over there?" the short mercenary on the  
hilltop questioned, "Mr. Davoren said this guy's supposed to be very fast  
and damn sneaky.."

"He just said that to watch you piss in yer pants. Geez, didn't you see  
that slick look on his face," interrupted the confident man arrogantly,  
"I tell ya, no one's here! I checked around real good and...."

Before the cocky mercenary could finish his sentence, Vincent suddenly  
opened fire. The loud bullet ripped straight through the man's skull,  
sending him tumbling clumsily over the wooden fence. He died instantly.

Vincent did not wait to hear the other mercenary shout at the top of  
his voice for his comrades, much less for them to rush over. Without  
looking back, he flew deeper into the black woods, hopping over bushes  
and racing past so many barren trees. He sensed heavy footsteps not too  
far behind him. Undoubtedly, the three remaining mercenaries, enraged by  
the brutal surprise attack, had decided to hunt him down through the  
woods.

Vincent suddenly dodged behind a tree, and was perfectly still. He  
glued his entire backside to the tree, pressing his gun against his  
heaving chest. In the near distance, he heard those men's shouts as they  
quickly drew nearer.

"Hurry! This way!! This way!!" roared a loud voice.

"You take that way, I'll go this way," commanded another angry voice,  
"Don't let your guard down...he's really dangerous!"

"I swear, I'll mutilate that goddamn asshole!"

Suddenly, all was still again. The entire woodland lay in darkness, its  
chilly air unnaturally calm.

Vincent basically understood their plan: they would surround him from  
three directions, then quickly close in on him to prevent his escape.  
That meant he had to somehow break through the deadly ring before being  
discovered. He also assumed these mercenaries had contacted the others  
for reinforcements, that is if the loud gunshot and commotion hadn't  
already attracted their attention.

The fact that Davoren hadn't personally attacked yet aroused Vincent's  
suspicion, almost to the point of alarm.

However, the approach of stealthy footsteps from behind immediately cut  
short all thoughts. Vincent held his breath as he sensed one of the  
mercenaries slowly creep along the tress, his gun most certainly ready  
to shoot any second. His sharp ears detected every movement of the  
approaching man: from his cautious steps in the snow, to the nervous  
twitch of his finger on the trigger. It was, as Vincent correctly  
guessed, the short mercenary with red hair.

The footsteps grew slowly closer. Vincent remained as still as a  
statue, his keen eyes fixed to the far corner. The darkness and shadows  
concealed him so completely, his tall figure appeared as part of the  
black tree. So much so that the red-haired man, though quite alert,  
snuck right past Vincent without even sensing his presence.

Instantly, Vincent grabbed the unwary man from behind. His hard  
metallic arm encircled the enemy's neck and crushed his windpipe.  
Frightened out of his wits, the mercenary screamed for help amidst wild  
chokes and fierce (but futile) struggling. In a flash, the other  
mercenaries rushed to the spot.

"THERE!!" thundered one man.

"SHOOT!! SHOOT!!!!!" roared the other man savagely.

Vincent quickly bolted towards another tree, still holding the  
struggling mercenary around the neck. Insanely furious, the two men  
automatically opened fire on their target, thereby spraying the entire  
hostage with bullets instead. Vincent had used this mercenary as a human  
shield.

He released the bullet-ridden corpse just as he dodged around the tree.  
>From his spot, Vincent could see the man lying face down in the snow  
over a pool of blood; he was dead.

An all-out war immediately erupted. The two remaining mercenaries,  
aroused to madness, blasted away at an entire throng of trees, one of  
which their clever enemy hid behind. The hot bullets tore at everything  
in their way; they overturned all sorts of twigs, bark chips, and bits  
of frozen dirt into the air.

Both sides exchanged several shots at once. Vincent's whole body  
huddled behind the sturdy shelter, while his arm extended out around the  
tree to shoot. Yet unlike the wild mercenaries who fired  
indiscriminately, Vincent shot with tactical caution. Above this mad  
crossfire, he sharpened all his senses to pin-point his enemies'  
positions.

Without peeking around the tree, he aimed slightly to the left, and  
fired; one of the men screamed violently in pain. Vincent fired again in  
the same exact position, and heard the man crash heavily to the ground.  
He had killed another mercenary.

The last man, blind with rage, redoubled the amount of gunfire.  
Vincent, however, only returned a couple of shots before suddenly  
breaking away from the bloody battle. He bolted straight through the  
dark woodland, heading for the hillock up ahead. Though he never looked  
behind, Vincent knew the last mercenary, the big muscular one, was madly  
rushing after him. Not too far back, he heard the angry man trample  
savagely over the bushes and swear non-stop.

At last, Vincent reached the foot of the hillock. He immediately sprang  
up the rocky slope, and landed onto the main gravel path once again. Gun  
in hand, Vincent darted across the road. He huddled behind one of the  
trees along the roadside, and was perfectly still.

For the first time since fighting, Vincent noticed himself gasping  
deeply for air. Indeed, his chest heaved in such unbearable pain as he  
fought for a precious breath. To add to his ordeal, the fever had grown  
worse. He felt the coughing fit edge closer.

Soon, he discovered his right upper arm had been wounded in the battle.  
Vincent was certainly surprised; he hadn't felt any pain up to now, not  
even the slightest twinge. He gazed blankly at his torn sleeve,  
marveling at the dark, hot blood soaking the wound. Luckily, the bullet  
had only grazed his arm, so Vincent found it easy (or at least possible)  
to bear the injury.

A stern frown darkened his face: this battle had lasted for nearly half  
an hour, far longer than expected. He wanted to return to Aeris at once.

"Where are ya, you damn freak?!!" thundered a loud, enraged voice  
suddenly. It was the muscular mercenary with the assault rifle. In  
pursuing his enemy, the man had climbed the rocky hillside up to the  
main road.

Vincent huddled himself further against the tree, bringing the gun  
closer to his hot face. He heard the angry man storm about here and  
there in a desperate search for him; he kicked the hedges viciously, and  
poked his gun around every tree in his path: nothing.

Like so many previous times, Vincent had hidden himself in the shadows.  
The man simply had no clue where Vincent's hideout could be. Breathless  
with his own rage, the brawny mercenary stood in the middle of the black  
road. His suspicious eyes darted all around the ghostly place.

"Come out here and fight like a man, if that's what the hell you're  
supposed to be!!" the mercenary roared, "You sure got balls doing my  
buddies in like that! Come out!!!"

Vincent made no reply. His bloody-red eyes shone in unnaturally cool  
composure.

"I swear that Davoren's gonna pay me TRIPLE the original price fer  
catching you...especially after all the trouble you've caused me!!"  
threatened the man, brandishing his huge fist into the air.

No answer.

The mercenary stomped along the roadside, pointing his deadly gun in  
angry anticipation. He wandered past Vincent's hideout, then halted a  
short distance away. He glared suspiciously at the dark surroundings.

Vincent never flinched a muscle.

"Slick-assed business man with a hefty cheque book...," the man spat  
out contemptuously, "...yeah, Davoren sure offered us a damn nice price  
fer you and that little chick, but it's still too damn low!!"

Vincent made no comment. An awkward silence followed.

"WELL, WHERE ARE YA, FREAK?!!" shouted the enraged mercenary  
impatiently, "WE GONNA PLAY CAT 'N MOUSE ALL FRIGGIN' NIGHT?!! COME OUT  
BEFORE I....."

Without warning, Vincent suddenly dashed across the road at full speed,  
right behind the mercenary's back. On detecting the black figure whiz  
by, the brawny man immediately opened fire with a loud curse. Vincent,  
however, evaded the wild bullets by rolling behind another tree; he did  
not return fire.

The big mercenary rushed after Vincent towards that tree, shooting all  
the way. The instant he turned around the tree, the man redoubled the  
amount of gunfire to make sure he killed the enemy. But he suddenly  
stopped short in complete disbelief.

Nobody was behind the tree.

Baffled by this mysterious disappearance, the man scratched the back of  
his head stupidly: he could had sworn he saw "the freak" dodge behind  
this tree. The man looked around himself again, but found no trace of  
his enemy.

It all lasted a moment. The mercenary just happened to glance up the  
tree, up at one of the hard branches, when he spotted a tall black  
figure perched on top. Before he could even open his mouth, one clean  
bullet hit him right between the eyes. The brawny mercenary stumbled  
backwards, then crashed to the ground. He lay face up in the snow, his  
mouth wide open and eyes blood-shot with pain; he was dead.

After luring the last mercenary to this tree, Vincent had simply leapt  
up to one of the branches, and ambushed the man. The bloody battle thus  
concluded, Vincent gracefully hopped off the tree branch down to the  
ground. He re-loaded his gun quickly, casting only an indifferent glance  
at the dead man by his feet.

His sharp eyes narrowed in deep suspicion: to be sure, Davoren knew  
fully well Vincent could handle these men. Trained and experienced as  
most of them seemed, these mercenaries hadn't a chance against a  
professional Turk, let alone Vincent's "freaky" skills (thanks being to  
his abnormal body). Though Vincent certainly felt tired after the  
battle, those men hadn't caused him too much alarm or trouble.

Then why would Davoren bother hiring such men, if he knew none of them  
could kill Vincent? Only Davoren himself had a fair chance against him;  
both of them had underwent the same experiment, and knew each other's  
abilities, not to mention fighting skills.

But Davoren hadn't shown up at all.......why?

When he suddenly remembered Aeris, a possible answer popped into  
Vincent's mind: perhaps these mercenaries had simply been a  
distraction....a sort of diversion to busy him. In his care to keep  
Aeris out of danger, Vincent had left her alone in the safe thicket.  
So, if he wasn't there to protect her, then Davoren could just....

Before the ominous thought could complete itself, Vincent turned around  
to rush for the thicket. However, he stopped short on hearing many  
footsteps running straight towards him. Suddenly, five men emerged onto  
the road, all armed to the teeth. The reinforcements had finally arrived  
to avenge their fallen comrades.

"AH! THERE HE IS!!!" shouted one voice.

"SHOOT HIM!! NOW!!!!" cried another loud voice.

Vincent instantly dashed away from the angry men, just as they opened  
full fire on him. He flew up the winding pathway amidst the wild  
gunfire, then suddenly darted to the side, right into a heavily-forested  
area.

He heard the mercenaries rush after him. Their heavy boots trampled  
over everything in their path; their loud voices called to each other.  
It seemed these men would hunt Vincent down forever, if not to avenge  
their friends, then definitely for Davoren's generous reward.

Quite wisely, Vincent resisted the urge to simply turn around and fight  
his way through these men. On the other hand, he refused to drag out the  
battle like last time. He needed to reach the thicket immediately.

His brain drew up a dozen plans, recommending some and rejecting  
others. At last, Vincent decided his course of action: he'd fight these  
infuriated men while at the same time make his way to the thicket. He'd  
have to eliminate his enemies swiftly and move on, but also keep a cool  
head and his wits about him.

Therefore, without further debate, Vincent decidedly tightened his grip  
on his gun.

During all this time, Aeris had remained safely hidden behind the tree  
in the dark thicket. The girl had sat huddled up against the rough bark,  
listening anxiously to the heavy silence. She had, of course, given a  
violent start on hearing the very first shot, but somehow had forced  
herself to remain still.

As the loud battle raged on, stopping for a minute then restarting  
again, Aeris felt her heart sicken with anticipation. Her limbs hadn't  
stopped trembling, nor would the fearful thoughts spare her mind.

She heard many rough, faint cries re-echo in the far distance, and mad  
gunfire tear through the air. Yet to be honest, those noises didn't  
frighten her that much. The horrible image of Davoren caused her this  
distress; the ruthless gunman constantly haunted her, blocking out all  
other thoughts.

Even though Vincent had almost assured her that man wasn't there, Aeris  
could not rid herself of this one fear: being captured and dragged,  
against all struggling and tearful pleas, straight back to the  
"Professor"...back to torture, darkness, and endless nightmares.....

Aeris huddled herself further against the tree, as if it would somehow  
shelter her anguished mind from these nagging fears.

"..I..I want to go home..," she whispered inaudibly to herself, "..dear  
God..I just want to go home..."

A long, long silence followed.

"Tsk tsk," answered a calm, playful voice out of nowhere, "Now isn't  
this a bad place to find a sweet little girl like you."

The familiar voice petrified Aeris beyond description.

She immediately sprang up, looking all around herself to find the  
dreaded speaker. Her nervous eyes darted from one corner to the other:  
nothing but shadows and bleak darkness, frozen trees and empty bushes.  
In her great fright, had she simply imagined the voice?

"Here. Up here," called the voice, sensing her confusion.

Aeris looked up the stout, knotted tree she had been hiding behind all  
this time. She spotted on one of the branches high up, Davoren seated  
quite comfortably. His back leaned against the main tree trunk, while  
one leg dangled down in the air. He gazed amusedly down at the  
astonished girl.

"Hello, my dear," he greeted with the politest smile, "Long time, no  
see. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?"

Poor Aeris could only stare back at him in speechless horror. If she  
had enough strength to describe the man's gleaming pink eyes, she would  
have probably just called them "evil".

-End of Chp.36

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	34. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.37

At the sight of Davoren, Aeris felt her whole heart sicken with fear  
and loathsome dread. A violent bout of trembling seized her cold limbs.  
She knew not how long he had been spying on her from up there. Had he  
just arrived, or been there all the time, hidden in the shadows? In  
either case, she hadn't even sensed his presence.

Aeris thought this terrible gunman would leap down from the tree  
branch. He would grab her, maybe strike her to quell any resistance,  
then carry her off...straight back to the hateful "Professor". Indeed,  
his physical strength far, far exceeded hers. And against such a  
ruthless men, what chance had Aeris of defending herself or even  
resisting?

But Davoren made no indication he would leap off his comfortable spot,  
let alone mishandle the girl in any unmannerly way. Far from it, he  
lounged carelessly on one of the high branches, his back still leaned  
against the main tree trunk. One leg dangled loosely in the air along  
with the hem of his thick trench coat. He held a half-finished cigarette  
to his lips.

Davoren's handsome face expressed great affability, almost affectionate  
warmth, towards the confused girl down below. One would have thought he  
was her closest friend in the world. Yet his strange eyes betrayed all  
the vicious malice hidden behind that friendly visage.

Such a sharp contrast between the two extremes gave Davoren a most  
cunning, sinister look. In truth, if he had gazed down on Aeris with a  
cold frown instead, she wouldn't have found him even half as  
frightening.

For a full minute, neither the callous gunman nor the girl spoke a word.

Both could hear the bloody battle raging furiously on in the far  
distance. The wild, loud gunshots filled the air until Hell seemed to  
break loose. Rough, faint cries and heavy stomping of feet re-echoed  
through the bleak woods. At times, an unnatural silence would suddenly  
interrupt the insane gunfire; not a sound stirred during this awkward  
moment. But instantly, the bloody battle resumed.

Davoren lazily folded his arm across his chest, holding the cigarette  
between his graceful fingers. Amidst all the wild crossfire suffocating  
the air, he paid no heed to such loud noises.

Through miraculous efforts and forced calmness, Aeris at last managed  
to gather her scattered thoughts again. She stood near the stout tree  
trunk, her face turned up to see this ruthless gunman in full view. Her  
anguished heart ached with every gunshot she heard: the bullets were all  
aimed at Vincent...all intended to kill him. Her hands couldn't stop  
trembling, not with that hellish nightmare perched above her on that  
tree.

But besides all the fear which had accumulated into her anxious eyes,  
deep contempt for this man also shone brightly. He had robbed her  
sense of security, he had pitted all those men against Vincent, and  
he had returned to claim her for the "Professor".

For some reason, Davoren tore his eyes away from her face. He gazed  
thoughtfully at the black tree tops scattered across the distance; their  
branches, like thin sickly arms, reached in vain for the brilliant  
canopy of stars high above.

"The Professor is very angry right now....just fuming like a steamboat  
with rage," Davoren began calmly without looking at her, "He's already a  
month behind on your testing and analysis data. He storms all around the  
laboratory, blubbering about you and making everyone else's life Hell.  
But y'know, he's pretty mad at Vincent too..."

Aeris said nothing.

"Of course, he's also ticked off at me for failing to capture you two.  
Heh heh...he came this close to eating me as meat carcass and using my  
hair as coconut shavings."

Davoren turned his pink eyes down to the girl again. Though his face  
had grown expressionless, the evil gleam in his eyes still remained.

"You have no idea, my dear, how badly the Professor wants you back,"  
Davoren stated, an ominous tone playing on his calm voice, "Every day,  
every night, he just yearns to have you again...."

Aeris recoiled a step in spite of herself. She felt disgusted and  
frightened at the thought of being so "badly" wanted by her tormentor.  
The cold-hearted gunman gazed down at her as he smoked his cigarette. He  
looked exactly as he had that miserable day Aeris first saw him.

The wild gunshots in the distance suddenly escalated to an all-out  
crossfire frenzy. Alarmed by the loud chaos, Aeris turned her head  
around: somewhere in these dark woods, Vincent was fighting those men.  
She gasped outloud when she heard a faint scream of agony  
(was it Vincent's??). Her heart swelled in anxiety. She desperately  
fought against a surge of tears.

Davoren, on the other hand, puffed out a cloud of smoke without the  
least care.

Aeris shot her angry eyes straight up at Davoren again. She clenched  
her two fists into tight fists, wishing she could punch this loathsome  
man off his high place.

"How did you survive?" Aeris asked.

Davoren lifted one eyebrow quizzically.

"Vincent dropped an entire wall on you. You were crushed underneath all  
the huge rubble...and then there was an explosion...and a fire! How  
could you have survived all that?!"

"I have....really, really, really tough skin," smiled Davoren with  
childlike simplicity.

Aeris scowled at the strange answer. Was he just kidding?

"...and I hardly feel any pain. So, I just dug out of the rubble and  
walked away," the man concluded, tickled with delight at his answer. Her  
anger seemed to amuse him greatly.

The mad battle behind turned into a wild war of hot bullets and  
confused skirmishes. The black woods re-echoed with fierce crossfire. It  
raged on for another moment, then suddenly ceased. With equal  
suddenness, one single shot rang out, followed by the coarsest scream  
Aeris had ever heard. Three more shots followed, and the battle erupted  
again, this time with redoubled fury.

Aeris clasped both hands over her heart as she beheld the dark woods  
before her: What if that was Vincent's scream? What if they had killed  
him? What if they were riddling his body with bullets?

Unable to contain her disturbing fears any longer, Aeris immediately  
rushed towards the battle zone. But she had only taken three steps when  
suddenly one loud bullet blasted right between her two feet. with a  
short scream, she stumbled forward, then darted her shocked eyes up the  
tree again.

She instantly spotted the silvery-grey gun in Davoren's hand, white  
smoke trailing up from the muzzle. He had fired that shot.

Aeris felt her blood run cold. That ruthless gunman could have killed  
her had he wanted to, or at least shot her legs.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you, honey," Davoren warned with  
fatherly sternness, "Cute little girls like you don't belong in bloody  
battles between mercenaries and professional assassins."

He carelessly holstered his gun back into the depths of his trench  
coat. He sat in the same languid position, one leg dangling downwards  
and his arm folded across his chest. His evil eyes shone in mischievous  
delight.

Poor Aeris stood perfectly still in her spot, listening to the faint  
scuffles, wild gunfire, and distant cries tear through the cold air. She  
could no longer suppress her anger.

"Are you really that afraid to face Vincent by yourself?!" she cried,  
the rage seething inside of her, "All those horrible men..and all those  
guns..all against just ONE PERSON?!!"

A very sinister smile crossed Davoren's lips, as if relishing Vincent's  
unfair situation.

"Oh, I admit hiring twelve mercenaries to kill him was perhaps pushing  
it a bit too far," he laughed good-naturedly, "I know Vincent isn't his  
best in these all-out war fights. His strongest assets are his agility,  
sharp senses, and of course his aim. But no, not battle tactics."

Though Aeris' beautiful face expressed unforgiving anger for this  
shrewd man, anxious tears had welled up in her eyes. She did not speak  
for fear she might burst out crying.

"But, Vincent handles himself quite well when pushed into tight  
situations like these," Davoren praised, smoking his cigarette smugly,  
"Don't forget, he used to be an excellent professional Turk. I know  
he'll be okay. Save your sympathy for the poor slobs he's slaughtering  
instead."

The girl made no reply.

"If you were to go rushing into the battle like that, Vincent would  
lose a lot of his needed concentration. He'd have to protect you AND  
fight back. So, it's best you wait here where it's safe."

Aeris scoffed contemptuously at the word "safe", but otherwise, made no  
response. She noticed the once wild, raging battle had deteriorated to a  
hot exchange of fire. It sounded very close by.

When she heard a sharp bleep, Aeris looked suspiciously up at Davoren.  
In return, Davoren pulled out a radio transmitter from his trench coat  
pocket, and fitted it into his ear. With a polite "please excuse me" to  
the girl below, he tapped the device once.

"M-M-Mr.Davoren...Sir??" stammered a nervous voice the instant the  
receiver was opened.

"Yes?"

"S-Sir, this bastard is taking us out one by one too damn fast!! He  
kills one of us, and disappears, then he pops outta nowhere and kills  
again!! He's too quick for us to keep up with! This...this FREAK just  
ain't human!!!"

"No kidding," answered Davoren, rolling his eyes at the stupid remark,  
"Tell me, where are you?"

"I'm..I mean, we're n-near the main road, moving through the west  
section."

"How many of you are left?"

"Two..."

No sooner had the frightened voice spoken, than a very loud shot  
gunshot resounded through the transmitter, followed by a piercing scream  
of pain.

"Whoops! Now it's only one," joked Davoren without the slightest  
annoyance.

Aeris listened to this conversation in complete silence. She felt  
slightly relieved: at least she knew Vincent was still alive.

Davoren tapped the transmitter again, then instructed in a very  
business-like tone, "He's in the west section, near the main road. I'm  
already there, and I have the little girl. Be careful, he's killed eight  
men so far. You three come over quickly."

"Yes Sir, Mr.Davoren. Right away!" obeyed a gruff voice.

Davoren yanked out the transmitter from his ear, then dumped it back  
into his deep pocket. He smoked his cigarette indifferently, listening  
to the gunfire in the near distance. The battle had finally quieted  
down to a simple exchange of fire, with many heavy pauses in between.  
The ruthless gunman was silent for a long time.

Aeris studied his lonesome figure perched high up there. Her green eyes  
darkened in hatred: God, how she loathed this man beyond description!

"You don't like me that much, do you, my dear?" Davoren smiled archly  
to himself, breaking into her thoughts.

She stared back in surprise. He hadn't even glanced at her, yet had  
sensed all her emotions so easily.

"Heh...nothing hurts more than the scorn of a woman," he commented  
sagaciously. He touched the back of his head as he added with playful  
humor, "..but mind you, getting your head shot is quite painful too."

Aeris regarded him as a complete lunatic, or a fiendish demon. Either  
description fitted him perfectly.

A heavy silence followed.

Aeris started violently when an ear-splitting gunshot suddenly rang out  
right behind her. Without warning, a mercenary literally flew past her,  
spinning wildly through the air, until his back slammed against the tree  
Davoren sat on. The mercenary slumped lifelessly down to the snowy  
ground, leaving a trail of dark blood on the tree trunk as he collapsed.  
He lay against the tree, his bloody head bent down sharply. He was dead.

"Boy, you sure wasted no time getting here," laughed Davoren, checking  
his watch impressively, "Hmmm...seven minutes. Not bad at all!"

As Davoren thus spoke so light-heartedly, he looked at someone behind  
Aeris. The girl quickly turned around to find Vincent standing some  
steps away, having just emerged victorious from the bloody battleground.  
Obviously, he had shot the last mercenary, then had ruthlessly hurled  
the corpse straight into the thicket.

His gun gripped tightly in his hot hand, Vincent glared up at Davoren.  
But while Davoren smiled and happily waved his hand, the former man  
expressed no emotion whatsoever.

"V..Vincent!!" Aeris cried in relief and alarm. She immediately dashed  
to his side.

"But man! Don't you look like a mess!" exclaimed the ruthless gunman  
with great amusement, "You must be exhausted from fighting all those  
morons and running around."

As much as Vincent hated to agree, Davoren was absolutely right: he was  
a mess and quite tired. He looked battered. His chest heaved deeply,  
fighting for precious air. Sweat trickled down his pale, feverish face.  
Tiny splotches of dark blood blotted his cheek. Several long black hair  
strands dangled before his face.

His clothes had also suffered from the battle. He had lost his scarf,  
and the hem of his long overcoat lay in tatters. One random bullet had  
grazed his body just above the waist, leaving a noticeable, blood-soaked  
tear. Another wild bullet had nearly hit his thigh. The many rips and  
cuts at the bottom part of his pants proved he had been racing through  
the brittle bushes.

Though the battle hadn't been too much a challenge for Vincent, the  
intensity had drained him. Indeed, he had eliminated his enemies so  
quickly and had ran at such an amazing speed, fatigue had finally caught  
up with him.

"Vincent! You..you're bleeding!" gasped Aeris on spotting his arm  
wound.

"..it's nothing. Don't worry about me," he lied softly. In truth, this  
wound had grown considerably worse during the last fight. He could feel  
the hot blood trickle down his arm and drip off his hand. Even the tight  
grip of the gun felt wet with his blood.

Vincent glanced tiredly at Aeris as he asked,"Are you alright?"

"Y-yes. He..he didn't try to catch me," she faltered out, turning her  
eyes up to Davoren.

The gunman gazed silently down at the two without moving.

When reassured of the girl's safety, Vincent glared intently at Davoren  
high above on that tree. Gently slipping his wounded arm out of Aeris'  
grip, he staggered a few steps forward, then halted again. His piercing  
eyes never dropped off the gunman's pleasant face. Davoren smoked his  
cigarette with perfect ease. He stared back at Vincent, but would not be  
the first to speak.

This was the second time they had met in thirty-one years.

"You're still here," Vincent remarked coolly.

"What do you mean?" asked Davoren. He sounded a bit confused.

"While I was distracted with those men, Aeris was completely helpless  
against you. You had plenty of opportunities to capture her and escape,  
even in the short time it took me to get here. But, you're still here."

"Why, Vincent! I am offended!" declared Davoren in feigned indignation,  
"You think I hired those men to distract you? And you think me such a  
heel that I would take advantage of a defenseless little girl in her  
distress? Tsk! now that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it?"

Davoren smoked his cigarette one last time, then flung it away.

"And besides," the ruthless man added coldly, "That lame plan would  
only work if I had wanted the girl alone. I'm supposed to catch you too,  
remember?"

Vincent narrowed his keen eyes in deep suspicion: if those men weren't  
sent to kill him, and weren't a distraction...then what was their true  
purpose?

Aeris lingered a few steps behind, the anxiety tearing her heart apart.  
She did not speak at all.

Davoren finally hopped off the tree branch. He landed on both feet  
right infront of the stout tree trunk, a short distance away from the  
two. After carelessly brushing the snow off his trench coat, he thrust  
both hands deep into his pockets. His pink eyes flickered with evil  
playfulness.

Contrastingly, Vincent remained stoic, concealing all his suspicions  
and burning questions behind a cold face. To his annoyance, the fever  
raged ever stronger inside his weary body, especially his forehead. The  
coughing fit nibbled at his soft lungs, as if savoring the flavor  
before devouring the whole thing. He hadn't much time left...

The two men stood face to face in perfect silence.

"I must apologize for underestimating you last time, Mr. Valentine,"  
Davoren began in what sounded like sincere regret,  
"I didn't take you half as seriously as I should have. I was basing my  
estimation only on what I knew about you thirty-one years ago."

Vincent made no reply.

"Last time, I only disabled your metal arm. I thought I could kill you  
off easily with that handicap on you. Looking back on that, I have to  
say I feel ashamed of myself. You proved yourself more than able and  
ready to handle any problems you land in. Why, you still managed to  
defeat me, and quite impressively too! I'd just like to say I'm sorry  
for underestimating you, my friend."

Vincent mistrusted this man completely. He gazed searchingly at the  
gunman's face, trying to guess a double meaning to his apologetic words.

Davoren merely smiled at his "friend's" suspicious look, then glanced  
amusedly at the dead mercenary slumped against the tree. He tilted the  
corpse with the tip of his shoe until it fell to the snowy ground, and  
lay lifelessly there. Davoren still smiled.

As Vincent watched the gunman standing there, a quick image flashed  
past his mind: thirty-one years ago...Davoren had shot a terrorist in  
the Reactor...but he wasn't smiling at all...he was very sad... he  
was...praying...

Davoren suddenly turned to face the two again. He glanced at Aeris, who  
cringed a step away, then fixed his malicious eyes on Vincent.

"I won't make the same mistake twice. I held back a lot last time,  
because I underestimated you too much. But not this time," the callous  
gunman assured, his happy smile turning to a vicious sneer, "This time,  
Sir, I WILL take the girl back to the Professor...she'll be all his  
again. I'll tear her away from you while I watch you die slowly and  
painfully. That I promise you!"

Vincent could sense poor Aeris shiver violently behind him. However, he  
made no reply to the venomous threat.

"You see, Vincent," Davoren explained amusedly, "I'm not going to use  
you claw against you. No, I'm going to use a much more effective  
handicap against you... I'll use the GIRL. This time, when I shoot,  
it's at her."

Silence.

Vincent stood rooted to his spot, his rigid gaze fixed on the insane  
man infront of him. He gripped his gun tighter, but did not raise it. He  
could sense Aeris' great distress turn to fearful alarm.

"I thought the 'Professor' wanted her alive," Vincent remarked calmly  
at last. His red eyes, however, darkened in unmistakable anger.

"Oh, he does. He won't have her otherwise," Davoren smiled back,  
delighted at the reaction, "And if I kill her, oh well. The Professor  
will just tear me to pieces (like I care). But, I'm still going to take  
the risk, Vincent. I know you've grown quite...protective of her, even  
more than before. I was just telling her that if she were to get caught  
in the crossfire, you'd lose a lot of concentration just to protect  
her."

Vincent's muscles tensed in redoubled anger. This man had predicted  
everything so accurately.

"So, you'll fight me on one hand, and guard the girl on the other. You  
have to be fresh, quick, and pretty alert to do BOTH tasks at the same  
time, right Mr. Valentine? Top form is the name of the game!"

No reply. Only a cutting, dirty look from Vincent.

"Oh, but you're tired, wounded, and ill!" Davoren sympathized  
mockingly, pretending he hadn't already noticed, "Aw, how unfortunate!  
Now what impact do you suppose THAT will have?"

It means I won't be as fast and sharp as I should be, Vincent replied  
angrily inside himself, he's right, I am exhausted after those two  
fights...and this damn coughing fit is getting worse....

He's forcing me to put the priority on Aeris' life instead of fighting  
him. He knows I'll take the bullet for her if I have to....but this  
time, he could kill me, not just disable my arm...

You're a cunning little bastard, Davoren. So that's why you hired all  
those mercenaries...to wear me down and exhaust me. Sure, then you won't  
have as much trouble fighting me...

"Stop it!! Why are you doing this??!!!" cried Aeris' tearful voice all  
of a sudden.

Both men looked at her in surprise.

The poor girl, with hot tears flooding down her eyes, stared straight  
at Davoren. Her limbs shook in agitation and twice as much anguish. She  
had listened to the relentless gunman, dumbstruck by his savage, almost  
sadistic, cruelty. The fear, distress, and anger had swelled inside her  
heart until it all burst forth with that desperate question.

Neither man interrupted her.

"You know what you're doing is wrong! Somewhere inside of you, you MUST  
know!! But why do you do all these horrible, evil things?! Vincent said  
you were a very, very good man...far better than he'll ever be!! He said  
that in the middle of all the crimes and bloodshed, you kept your soul  
alive!! And I...I'm sure you were a kind-hearted human being! So why are  
you doing all this?!! Why?! Why?!"

There was a heavy pause. Aeris gazed beseechingly at Davoren's  
expressionless face, expecting him to answer her anguished question. But  
Davoren made no reply. Vincent thoughtfully studied the tearful girl  
trembling some steps behind him. She looked so pitiful, sobbing and  
shaking all by herself.

Suddenly, Davoren burst out into wild, hysterical laughter.

"Oh, Vincent said all that about me, did he? Well, how generous of him!  
HA HA HA HA HA HA...."the maniacal man cried out. The lavish praise  
somehow seemed an excellent joke to him.

Aeris stared in absolute horror at Davoren as the merry laughter shook  
his very core. Vincent felt intense hatred boil his blood, but kept a  
stoic face. At long last, after many failed attempts, Davoren brought  
himself under reasonable control again.

"Ha ha..heh heh heh...don't think you know anything about me, honey,"  
the cruel gunman forced out, breathless with his previous laughter, "If  
you think you do, then you should go to sleep. It's WAY past your  
bedtime, little girl."

Aeris was stunned into silence.

"Vincent has me confused with another Davoren," he added softly,  
addressing himself more than her, "That man he knew is gone...his  
'soul', 'kind-heartedness' and 'goodness' all died a long time  
ago....such a long, long time ago. I can't even remember whether that  
man really existed at all..."

Vincent gazed at the insane gunman with peculiar scrutiny. For a split  
second, he thought he spotted pain flash across Davoren's eyes. But when  
Davoren finally recovered himself, Vincent found nothing but vicious  
malice and cunning ruthlessness in those pink eyes.

Gone the gentle compassion and righteous conscience of thirty-one years  
ago. Gone his veneration for any human life, his genuine pity for those  
who suffer, and his strict loathing of any injustice. It had all faded  
away like the color of his hair.

"Now I'm just a slave to the almighty Professor," Davoren smiled weakly  
at the two, "I fulfill the commands of my master without question or  
moral judgment. My so-called 'soul', 'goodness', yadda yadda yadda is  
irrelevant to my duty. You WILL go back to the Professor tonight, and  
Vincent dies. It's all for the experiment. Everything else does not  
concern me."

The three stood still without a word. Realizing how futile her pitiful  
pleas had been, Aeris could only stare tearfully at Davoren. The smile  
remained frozen on the gunman's lips. His evil eyes gleamed lovingly at  
her, as if reassuring her he's keep his promise. He then turned to  
Vincent.

Vincent had nothing to say. He only gazed back at this cruel  
gunman...the once beloved leader of the Turks...his old best friend...  
and perhaps the kindest man he had ever met. The face, same as it had  
looked thirty-one years ago, slowly became cold again.

Davoren would definitely carry out his insane plan. He'll go all out,  
no mercy or hesitation in his brutal actions. All for this mysterious  
"experiment", he would kill Vincent tonight, and drag the poor girl  
away. That hadn't been an empty threat or any pompous bluff.

Indeed, it hadn't. Vincent gave a violent start when Davoren suddenly  
yanked out his own gun, and fired straight at Aeris.

-End of Chp.37

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	35. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.38

It all happened in a flash, far too fast for Aeris to comprehend. The  
very same instant Davoren opened fire, Vincent immediately lunged for the  
girl. Grabbing her with his claw, he sprang forward, just as a hot bullet  
whizzed past his head. It all happened in a flash.

Still holding onto Aeris, Vincent tumbled over once in the snow, but  
instantly recovered his balance. He gracefully flipped backwards, then  
landed on both feet again, his body crouched down in alert readiness.

He expected the insane gunman to automatically bombard them with wild,  
indiscriminate bullets. The expectation had been so strong, that when  
Davoren lowered his gun instead of firing, Vincent narrowed his keen  
eyes suspiciously. He remained crouched down. All his senses sharpened in  
anticipation of the enemy's next move.

For an awkward moment, neither man spoke or flinched a muscle.

A hateful scowl darkened Vincent's face as he beheld this gunman in front  
of him. He held Aeris tightly under his armpit, his whole claw encircled  
around her waist.

The poor girl, who stared in horrified shock, clung weakly to Vincent's  
coat. She scarcely understood what gruesome fate she had just narrowly  
escaped. Indeed, if Vincent hadn't reacted in time, that bullet would  
have undoubtedly ripped straight through her skull.

Davoren carelessly holstered his gun, which baffled Vincent further but  
also intensified his suspicions. Though Davoren returned the distrustful  
glare with a most pleasant smile, Vincent saw straight through that  
false visage. The bright gleam in those pink eyes betrayed all the evil  
amusement and baleful cruelty hidden inside.

Very slowly, Davoren began to advance towards the two. He didn't seem  
to mind being unarmed while Vincent gripped his own gun with stern  
rigidity.

"Oohhh...very impressive reflexes!" the callous gunman praised  
good-humouredly but with slight mockery, "Even when you're sick,  
battered, and weighed down with a handicap, you still manage to stay fully alert."

Vincent's muscles tensed at the playful words, but he would not be the  
first to attack. Davoren drew closer.

"But I wonder, Mr. Valentine," the man added as he deliberately reached  
for something inside his trench coat, "Hmmm....I wonder just how long you  
can keep it up before you let your guard down?"

Vincent instantly grasped his sinister meaning.

Davoren took another step before suddenly lunging forward at top speed,  
yanking out a cold semi-automatic gun from inside his coat. Vincent  
barely had time to react. He sprang back, then narrowly avoided the torrent of  
wild bullets by dashing to the side. He took shelter in the thick woods  
again.

He understood this ruthless gunman's strategy: a hard, non-stop shoot-  
out until Vincent would slip off his guard. It would be swift, and brutal.  
Only in this fight, every shot was aimed at Aeris.

Vincent knew Davoren had decided to chase them through the black  
woods. He could detect the enemy's unnaturally quick, light footsteps rushing  
after him. Vincent diverted to the side, then bolted forward at double  
speed: Davoren may be fast, but he was still much faster.

Black trees and shapeless bushes whizzed by as Vincent flew through the  
dark woods. The insane gunfire, thirsty for blood, angrily pursued its  
target.

He held Aeris very tightly under his armpit as he ran through this  
crazy gunfire. In return, the girl hid her whole face against his body. Her  
trembling hands clutched his overcoat. Surprisingly, poor Aeris made no  
sound, not even one muffled sob. Perhaps in her terror, she simply  
lacked the strength to cry out.

A crazy game of "shoot and dodge" followed, the offense firing openly,  
and the defense miraculously avoiding the deadly shots. To confuse their  
path, Vincent darted amongst the trees, hopped over bushes, and very often  
changed direction. But the wild bullets followed him everywhere. They  
savagely pelted the poor trees, and pierced the unfortunate hedges. The  
two men raced through the endless woodlands at an incredible speed, with  
loud gunfire filling the air wherever they went.

The mad bullets rapidly closed in on Vincent. He forcefully mustered  
his dwindling strength, repressed his illness, and sharpened all his senses  
to full alert. He needed a sturdy shelter good enough for a counter-attack  
position. It would be a lot safer than fighting in the open, especially  
with Aeris involved.

Vincent bolted behind a throng of slender trees, stooping low as the  
crazy bullets tore at this feeble barrier. He tumbled forward a few times to  
avoid the gunshots raging after him. He dashed here and there; tripped  
but somehow recovered his balance. He returned fire only when his persistent  
enemy got too close.

Somehow, he could hear Aeris' frantic heartbeat pounding like crazy.  
Yes...she was frightened, her precious safety having been so cruelly  
shattered... he was quite surprised she hadn't burst out crying yet...

A stray bullet suddenly ripped through the side of his left leg.  
Vincent stumbled against a tree in suppressed pain, but instantly ducked down,  
just before more wild bullets (intended for his head) blasted the tree  
instead. He returned a couple of shots, then scurried back up to his feet to find  
cover.

Vincent zoomed through the woods faster than before. He never bothered  
inspecting his wounds or moaning about the agonizing pain. If he stopped  
for even a millisecond, the brutal gunfire would tear him apart.

His chest ached miserably. His entire body burned with fever. He sensed  
the coughing fit only a short time away.

I either fight back NOW or wait for the blasted seizure to get me,  
Vincent argued inside his battered mind, that Davoren sure picked the right  
time to attack...bastard of a strategist!

Suddenly, Vincent rolled to the side, then scuffled behind a stout  
tree. Outraged by this daring barrier, the violent bullets redoubled their  
attack. Each loud shot screamed for the two refugees. However, the brave  
tree stood undaunted by the savage gunfire.

The instant Vincent reached this sturdy shelter, he huddled down  
against the tree, his back glued to the tough bark. He protectively nestled  
Aeris against his chest, so that she sat huddled up between his legs. Her face  
remained buried in his coat.

Hot bullets whizzed through the air like sharp knives. They tore at the  
tree, sending bits of rotten bark and frozen dirt hurtling about.  
Vincent roughly concealed the trembling girl under one open end of his overcoat.

"Aeris, cover your ears," he ordered gently, protecting her head with  
his metallic claw.

She automatically obeyed. Without hesitation, Vincent shot out his arm  
around the tree, and opened full fire.

An all-out war instantly erupted.

The two sides exchanged fire at once. Vincent never dared peek around  
the tree (not with THIS insane crossfire raging on). At times, he emptied  
his entire gun in one round, other times, hid completely to avoid Davoren's  
crazy bombardment. He reloaded his gun with incredible quickness, and  
strained every nerve to hit the enemy.

Aeris sat still, hidden under Vincent's coat from wild bullets, bark  
chips, and flying dirt. She covered, or rather clutched her ears to shut  
out the cruel gunfire. Her heart pounded so frantically. A sickly  
faintness overpowered her.

She passively noticed Vincent's muscles grow more tense with each  
bullet. She felt his feverish chest heave in great repressed pain. His hard  
breaths had turned to gasps. Perhaps twice, he had to pause the fight and  
struggle violently against an internal agony. But in her overwhelming fright,  
poor Aeris could not grasp what these ominous signs meant.

She peered hesitantly at the wound in his left leg: a horrible tear  
through the side of his black pants, with a deep, ugly gash bleeding  
profusely. So far, this was Vincent's worst wound.

She wanted this madness to be another nightmare. She wanted to wake up  
safe in a warm, soft bed and say "it was just another bad dream". The  
girl wanted it so badly, hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

The brutal battle raged on for around fifteen long minutes, neither  
side giving in to the other. Vincent could sense Davoren dash amongst the  
trees, probably to confuse his aim. The gunman moved with such an incredible  
speed, and the crossfire grew so fierce, Vincent could barely detect  
which direction to shoot.

A wild torrent of bullets suddenly tripled their intensity against the  
tree, forcing Vincent to draw back his entire arm. As the gunfire  
continued, he quickly reloaded his gun, then prepared to rebuff this  
savage attack. This time, he had pin-pointed Davoren's position: rapidly  
closing in, firing away but still wide open.

But before Vincent could shoot, he heard Aeris scream tearfully, then  
clutch the front of his shirt with all her feeble might.

"Aeris! Aeris, are you hurt?!" he asked in alarm.

The girl had no strength to answer, not even lift her head.

Vincent grit his teeth in anger: he had to somehow push back this  
ruthless enemy, if only to buy himself a couple of minutes.

Therefore, Vincent furiously fired non-stop at the bleak darkness,  
most of  
his body huddled behind the sturdy tree. He gave Davoren no chance to  
retaliate or get any closer. He wrangled all his senses just to lock  
onto the enemy's movements.

On catching a glimpse of a black shadow dashing nearby, he doubled his  
fire in that direction until the gun emptied. Immediately, Vincent  
dodged behind the tree again, and reloaded his gun. The brutal gunman had been  
forced back.

For the moment, Vincent ignored the battle. Instead, he fell to quickly  
checking Aeris for any injury. Desperately trying to repress her tears,  
Aeris clung to the man's coat during the brief inspection. At last,  
Vincent discovered a stray bullet had grazed the very tip of her boot. Most  
likely, she must have thought it actually hit her.

He began soothing the tearful girl, whose efforts to control her  
terror were crumbling.

"Sh! Sh! Look, Aeris. It just hit your boot," Vincent comforted, wiping  
her tears with the palm of his hand, "You're all right. He didn't hit  
you."

"M-make it stop...," she begged through suppressed sobs.

Vincent gazed down at her, but found himself unable to reply. His face  
expressed no emotion.

"I don't want to go back there!! How many times do I have to tell  
them?! Why won't they leave me alone?!" poor Aeris raved, beside herself with  
angry despair, "..Davoren...Davoren says he'll kill you..he'll tear me  
away and t-take me back there....to the Professor! Torture...pain...so much  
pain...I don't want to go back!! But now..now he'll..I..I can't..and  
this crazy gunfire..it's just ripping my mind apart! Make it stop, Vincent!  
Please, make it stop! Make it stop!!!"

A heavy silence forced itself upon the two. Vincent stoically gazed  
down at the distraught girl. He did not move or speak, but studied her  
slender figure so pitifully huddled against his chest. Her shoulders shook  
violently. She covered her tearful eyes with both hands, as if to stop  
seeing this hectic fight.

He gently began stroking her hair, like parents do when their little  
children wake up crying from a scary nightmare.

For a brief moment, Vincent's mind strayed off: no doubt all her fears  
and torturous sufferings had exploded with that desperate outburst; who  
could blame her? Davoren had ruthlessly shoved the poor girl into the fight  
just to win the upper hand. She didn't want to return with the gunman. She  
didn't want to witness this battle either.

She wanted to be left alone...to be "safe", even if that little  
precious wish sounded so "stupid" to her.

Why should such an impossible, fantastic wish be called so? Every  
person had some pain, some fear, some anger to run away from. Why should it be  
so "stupid" to wish one could be safe from those emotions?

But Vincent suddenly cut short his gloomy reverie on sensing an  
unnatural movement in the bushes to the far left side. In that one moment of  
distraction, Davoren had snuck straight up to the two's shelter.

Instantly, Vincent grabbed Aeris and leapt away, just as a crazy  
torrent of bullets showered the spot to bits. One bullet aimed at Aeris grazed  
clean through his arm instead, several others blasted against his claw. He  
tumbled roughly to his side, but somehow scuffled back to his knees and  
returned full fire at Davoren. Vincent forced Aeris to keep her head  
down with his claw, while his other hand busied itself shooting.

He was much alarmed to find Davoren had crept so close, more annoyed  
with himself for almost slipping off his guard like that. Indeed, poor Aeris'  
violent ordeal had unintentionally distracted him.

The two exchanged a short but heavy bout of shooting. Davoren dashed  
quickly amongst the trees, firing away but hiding whenever the fight got  
too intense. Vincent, on the other hand, stood his ground in the open.  
He fired so fiercely at the enemy, sometimes driving Davoren back for a  
moment. His claw protectively covered Aeris' head as she lay flat on the  
snowy ground.

Vincent fired just as the gunman dodged behind a tree. Davoren heartily  
returned a couple of shots, then hid completely behind the barrier  
again.

All was silent, far too silent.

Vincent suspected some "trick" behind this unnatural stillness, so kept  
his gun rigidly fixed on that tree. He slowly forced himself up to his  
two feet (one felt a bit limp). He pulled Aeris up with him. She was pushed  
as far behind his back as possible, his metal claw keeping her in tact.

He waited for the enemy's next move.

"Don't you think it's strange...all this that we're doing right now?"  
asked Davoren's calm voice from behind the tree, "I mean, we used to be  
best friends. We shook hands the first day we met; we talked together  
all the time. I looked out for you, and you respectfully called me 'Sir'. I  
never would have dreamed, thirty-one years later, we'd be trying to kill  
each other like two life-long, bitter enemies."

Davoren suddenly emerged from around the battered tree. He stood a  
short distance away from the two. His semi-automatic gun, still smoking from  
the intense shoot-out, hung idly by his side. His face looked a bit dirty.  
His clothes, the trench coat in particular, had been tattered from bullets  
and bushes. He smiled very pleasantly, almost kindly, at the two.

Though Vincent did not shoot, he glared suspiciously back at the  
friendly gunman.

"We look exactly like we did back then (well, eye color and my hair  
being the obvious exception)," Davoren joked, pushing back his snow-white  
hair, "But Vincent, look at us! The world around us changes, days come and go,  
people grow old, but we're frozen in our place. We're in a time our  
faces don't even belong in."

No reply. far from being annoyed by Vincent's scornful silence, Davoren  
thrust his empty hand into his pocket, and chuckled to himself.

"Heh heh heh...y'know, we should be wrinkly old geezers in some resting  
home, reminiscing about 'the good ol' days', just like two aging buddies  
always do. Yup, we'd have a couple of false teeth, grey hair (or maybe  
bald?), and walking canes too. You'd have weak eyesight from all that  
sharp-shooting, and lemme see...heh heh...I'd definitely have lung  
cancer from all the smoking I've done......'Blind-eye Vincent' and 'Davoren  
coughin'-hack', that'd be our nicknames!!"

Not at all amused, Vincent narrowed his red eyes on the gunman's happy  
face. His instincts warned him of some upcoming attack, but could not  
specify what this man intended.

"But instead of that mundane, pointless little existence, here we are!"  
Davoren announced jokingly, "Here we are, in our strong young bodies of  
thirty-one years ago, killing each other, with a little girl stuck in  
the middle, and a crazy old coot using us for an experiment!"

With such carefree easiness, Davoren pulled out a small timer bomb from  
his pocket. The number read "5".

"Wha-hey! Talk about an alternate course to your life!" Davoren smiled  
innocently, flinging the bomb at the two. He instantly dashed away.

Vincent had immediately recognized the object before Davoren had even  
tossed it. Grabbing Aeris with both arm and claw, he flew beyond top  
speed through the black woods. The violent pain in his legs were forgotten,  
all giddiness and exhaustion temporarily discarded. He never looked back.

A thunderous explosion suddenly blasted Vincent right off his feet just  
before he could clear the woods. He felt a mad force hurl him violently  
through the air, with both him and Aeris spinning out of control.

-End of Chp.38

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	36. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.39

Vincent thought his back had slammed against a thick concrete wall.  
Instead, the violent explosion had merely hurled him at full force into  
a tough, knotted tree across the road.

He immediately lost all sensation in his body.

Surprisingly, Vincent had managed to hold onto Aeris, even as they spun  
wildly through the air. He had embraced the screaming girl tightly  
against his chest, so that on impact (and what impact!), only Vincent's back  
took the brutal blow. He never let go of her.

At the same instant Vincent slammed into the sturdy tree, Davoren came  
skidding clear across the gravel road, having himself just barely  
escaped the woods unharmed. Crouched down with bent legs set wide apart, the  
gunman at last came to a halt. He stood only a few yards away from the  
distraught two.

The earth-shaking explosion had also sent all sorts of debris flying  
out of the woodlands: burning tree branches, clumps of dirt and snow, even  
blasted bush tops. A huge fire roared some distance in the woods,  
lighting up the entire area in orange brilliance. That was the bombsite.

When he had thus been so ruthlessly slammed and all sensation lost,  
Vincent slumped weakly down to the ground. Still clinging onto Aeris as  
if to dear life, he lay wearily against the knotted tree. Aeris lay  
slouched in his lap, much shaken by the violent blast, but otherwise unharmed.  
Vincent's hand held the gun in a rigid, tight grip. His head bent  
sharply down, so that much of his lustrous black hair dangled before his face.  
He gasped loudly for air.

"Vincent!! Vincent!!" cried Aeris in horrified alarm. She frantically  
pushed back his long hair, then held his haggard face between her  
trembling hands, "Vincent!! VINCENT!!!!"

The man simply lacked the strength to respond.

He found himself struggling against unconsciousness, with his head  
swimming around in a sea of confused chaos. The loud explosion still  
rang in his numb ears; he could barely hear Aeris' tearful voice. He could  
not move his aching limbs, not even flinch his finger. His head felt as  
heavy as lead, his eyesight far too blurry.

A splitting headache trampled all over his already battered brains. His  
lungs howled in pain.

Frantic beyond reason, Aeris immediately slipped out of his lap, then  
crouched down infront of him. She sobbed out his name repeatedly, patted  
his hot cheeks, anything to win a reply from him. Indeed, he looked  
like he would pass out any moment.

Vincent slumped to the side in exhaustion, but Aeris instantly grabbed  
him by the shoulders. The girl pulled him towards herself to steady his  
balance again. Vincent sat slouched forward, with Aeris' cold hands pressed  
against his cheeks.

"..V..Vincent..oh God, Vincent! Please, wake up!" she pleaded,  
completely at her wits' end.

"I'm all right..I'm..all right..," he whispered hoarsely to calm the  
tearful girl. With that lie, he pressed his burning fingers against his eyes. He  
needed to dispel this horrible dizziness somehow.

He wondered why Davoren hadn't attacked yet. He could feel those pink  
eyes laughing at his ordeal.

It took Vincent perhaps a minute just to gather his scattered senses  
again. He sat hunched over, his heavy head supported by Aeris' hands.  
Most of his hearing had finally cleared up. He finally realized the stinging  
pain tearing every inch of his battered body.

At long last, after many tearful entreaties, Vincent forced his  
blood-shot eyes open. Despite hazy eyesight, grievous injuries, and  
clinging weariness, he would not abandon this crazy battle; not with  
Aeris at stake.

Aeris' anxious eyes told him how haggard, sickly, and ghostly pale his  
face looked. It seemed Davoren would beat him within an inch of his  
life, then let the cruel illness finish off whatever remained.

"..ah..I..I'm all right, Aeris..I'm fine..," he reassured before the girl  
could burst out crying, "..you... were you hurt at all?"

"..I..uh..n-no..I'm..," Aeris faltered out confusedly. In her anxiety,  
she had simply forgotten about herself, "..I..I'm okay...but you, Vincent!  
y-you're.."

But Vincent abruptly turned his eyes to the side, at the same time  
touching the girl's arm to silence her. He glared hatefully at Davoren,  
who stood a short distance down the road. The gunman gazed back at him so  
mockingly, with one hand impertinently propped on his hip. His other  
hand held the semi-automatic gun by his side. He had been patiently waiting  
all this time for Vincent to recover.

The brilliant fire raging in the woods lit up one half of Davoren's  
face, while the other half remained obscured by darkness. His strange pink  
eyes blazed with an evil fire, even more intense than the one in the woods.

He looked like a demon just crawled out of Hell. The stray white hair  
strands dangling before his face only added to his sinister appearance.

Nobody spoke a word.

Vincent wasted no more time wallowing in his own ordeal. With a sharp  
grunt, he struggled to one knee, then up to his feet. He nearly  
staggered back down, but somehow steadied himself in time. He protectively shoved  
Aeris behind him, letting her hold onto his claw while his hand gripped  
his gun. He breathed hard. His eyes shone in crimson brilliance.

The two men stood face to face.

"Still able to move, huh?" Davoren marveled with malicious mockery,  
"My, what incredible endurance you have! I was hoping that blow would at  
least shatter your spine, if not knock you out cold for another thirty years."

Vincent made no response except scoff under his breath. He felt the  
tearful Aeris clutch his shirt from behind, then bury her face into his  
back. She seemed desperate for shelter from this horrific nightmare.

"But of course, I should have known you'd be tougher than to let a mere  
tree kill you," the ruthless gunman smiled amusedly, "Still, I've never  
seen anyone look so sick and beat-up. You look like a bloody pulp,  
Mr. Valentine."

Davoren told no lie. Vincent looked three times more battered than when  
this crazy shoot-out started. His black overcoat lay in filth and  
tatters; his pants and sleeves torn with bullet wounds. His whole chest, ravaged  
by the repressed coughing fit, heaved in agony; so much so that he still  
gasped for air. Sweat poured down his feverish, blood-spattered face.  
His feet felt so wobbly, he himself wondered how he could stand at all.

"I'm surprised..you didn't kill me just now," Vincent remarked  
composedly but with deep resentfulness, "I was such an easy target...dizzy,  
stunned, and wide open for any attack."

"Oh now! We have the whole night ahead of us, so what's the rush? What  
fun would it be if I just killed you without watching you suffer a bit? Even  
blood-thirsty gunmen like me need some entertainment once in a while."

Vincent made no answer, completely disgusted with this man's sense of  
"fun". So, Davoren had only spared his life out of good-humor.

"But now that you mention it, I suppose I should end this and just kill  
you," the callous man playfully mused aloud, "The Professor's been  
getting on my case all this month, yearning for the girl again, screaming for  
your head, and how much he needs to finish his wonderful experiment. 'It's  
all for the experiment! The experiment!' he says. Geez, what a miserable old  
grouch!"

At the mention of the "experiment", Vincent narrowed his red eyes on  
Davoren's face very keenly, but said nothing.

In return, Davoren smiled at the piercing look. He carelessly ejected  
an empty cartridge of bullets from his gun, then shoved a new one into the  
hollow chamber.

"I'm impressed you've survived this long, Vincent. I know it's not easy  
fighting me all-out and having a little cry-baby weighing you down. But  
unfortunately, I fear your condition has deteriorated so much, you can  
barely defend yourself, let alone protect the girl. In case you didn't  
notice, you can't even stand straight."

The gunman slowly began advancing towards the two. Vincent tensed in  
his spot, expecting an attack any moment. Poor Aeris edged closer against  
his back.

Vincent internally agreed with the gunman. That last explosion had  
really knocked out what precious little energy he had. His senses dizzied by  
exhaustion, his agility reduced, his health plagued by the fit...he had  
no chance of surviving this fight with Aeris involved.

But nevertheless, he pushed the girl further behind him, while at the  
same time gripping his gun very tightly.

"I can't stand straight, you're right," Vincent replied, glaring  
straight back at the approaching Davoren, "..but there's still breath in my body.  
And as long as I have that, not you, your mercenaries, or even your  
mighty 'Professor' will have her."

"Defend to the death, eh?" Davoren pronounced viciously, a cold  
expression replacing the smile, "My, my! How chivalrous of you!"

He stopped. The two stood facing each other, with Aeris nervously  
tucked behind Vincent's back. The raging fire blazed on in the forest; the  
short crackles of burning wood and twigs filled the air.

"..chivalrous, yes," the gunman remarked before suddenly lunging  
forward at an incredible speed, "...chivalrous, but not very smart!!!!"

Vincent had anticipated this attack. Grabbing Aeris very roughly around  
the waist, he flipped to the side, just before a fresh surge of bullets  
attacked them. He tumbled over a few times amidst the wild gunfire, but  
soon scuffled back to one knee. He dumped Aeris by his side, then  
returned full fire at Davoren, who easily dodged behind one of the trees.

Vincent knew better than to fight on an open road, with no shelter,  
and a frantic girl huddled by his side. Therefore, he furiously shot a round  
to push Davoren back, then immediately picked up the girl again. He darted  
away as fast as his feet could carry him, down the road, then straight  
into the woods.

He could hear Davoren's quick footsteps rapidly closing in from behind.  
Vincent flew past the trees along the roadside, pursued by the ruthless  
gunman, who never hesitated to fire away. He avoided the deadly shots  
only by wrangling his hearing senses to the very extreme. Vincent dodged  
behind trees, skipped over bushes, and tumbled to the side as he ran to escape.

Aeris had embraced his neck and buried her whole face against his  
shoulder. Her trembling fit doubled with every shot that whizzed by her.  
Whenever Vincent returned a few shots, she gave a faint cry but  
immediately suppressed it.

Vincent's brain raced to form a plan, no matter how ludicrous or  
difficult. Escape was impossible: his leg injuries had significantly  
reduced his speed. He couldn't just turn around and fight all-out:  
first, he lacked the strength for a counter-offensive; second, he could never  
carry Aeris around and fight. Then what should he do? Abandon the girl?  
Never! Leave her someplace safe while he fought? She could be  
discovered, and if Davoren happened to be her discoverer, she would be killed.

He grit his teeth to restrain a violent curse: Davoren had him  
cornered in every direction. He couldn't go on running like this forever. There  
must be SOME way out of this wretched trap.

He narrowly escaped a crazy shower of bullets by dashing to the side.  
Vincent dodged behind a tree just as the savage gunfire tore the bark  
off the unlucky barrier. He tightened his grip around the girl (who was  
futilely battling hysterics), then dashed at full speed amongst the  
throng of trees, regardless of mad gunfire.

Davoren showed no mercy in his pursuit: either he killed Vincent, or  
died in the process.

The chase raged on through the woods. The two men raced along the  
trees, one pursuing with such evil doggedness, the other struggling to stay on  
his feet. Vincent had no time to notice his new injuries. His mind fought  
for a solution to this dilemma.

Finally, Vincent reached the very end of the woods. He tumbled out onto  
the gravel road, dumping Aeris behind him again. At the same time,  
Vincent opened full fire back into the woods. He shot straight at Davoren with  
such fierceness, the gunman could only huddle behind a tree, and return a few  
shots.

Vincent wondered how long he could hold back the gunman; he was down to  
his last cartridge of bullets. He wondered more how long he could hold  
down the coughing fit. It raged inside his hot, tight chest, screaming for  
release.

Suddenly, Vincent detected heavy footsteps rushing towards him. Much to  
his alarm (and annoyance), three heavily-armed men emerged onto the  
road, then raced straight for him. They called to each other, shouting angrily  
"THERE!! HE'S THERE!!" and "SHOOT!! NOW!!!!"

The last three mercenaries had finally arrived to aid their leader.

"Yes, just what I need right now...more company!" Vincent muttered as  
he scuffled back to both feet.

He yanked Aeris off the cold ground with his claw, then bolted down the  
road. The mercenaries automatically opened fire on their target,  
hurtling  
curses and shouts as well as deadly bullets. Vincent only returned a few  
shots as he dashed away. Otherwise, he darted at top speed without  
glancing behind.

An insane torrent of bullets ripped through the air, straight at the  
running target. Vincent miraculously escaped by tumbling into a huge,  
thick forest along the roadside. He struggled back up to his feet immediately.  
Without hesitation, he ran further into the black labyrinth of knotted  
trees, brushing past bushes and frozen twigs.

The cries of the three mercenaries grew fainter until he could no  
longer hear them. They probably wanted to consult their leader before making  
any attack.

After perhaps five minutes of running and scuffling, Vincent slowed  
down. Gasping loudly for air, he made his way to one tree, then collapsed to  
his knees. He released Aeris.

His hard gasping nearly changed into an outright fight for air. His  
limbs twitched in pain. The fever burned him all over, from his forehead to  
his fingertips. Vincent's eyesight had blurred again; fuzzy grey objects and  
shapeless shadows surrounded him. He could hear his hot blood gurgling  
inside his aching lungs.

Just like their situation, the illness couldn't possibly get any worst.

Aeris forcefully repressed her fears again, and somehow withheld the  
urge to break down into tears. She immediately crawled over to Vincent's  
side to ease his ordeal. The girl rubbed his shaking back, whispering hurried  
words of encouragement into his ears. She steadied his balance again, then  
patted his cheeks and burning hand to restore his senses.

A whole minute dragged by.

When Vincent had recovered whatever remained of his strength, he looked  
around himself in silent curiosity. Thick trees and entangled bushes  
clustered around the two intruders, their barren branches and twigs  
stretched out overhead. Indeed, Vincent had stumbled into a very, very  
heavily-forested area.

It wouldn't be long before those men discovered this hideout. And with  
him in such a battered state, he'd never last long against their guns. In  
his anxious frustration, Vincent could only think of one plan.

"Aeris, I want you to run away from here," he ordered gently.

The girl gaped at him in astonishment.

"I'll distract those men, and hold them back for a while, you run  
away.... get out of this park," Vincent explained as he checked his ammo: only  
ten bullets left, "Now, I'm going to go back there, you run.."

"V-Vincent..how...w-w-what are..," Aeris faltered, horrified by his  
idea, "..I..I can't just leave you here! You're hurt, and sick! You don't  
stand a chance against Davoren and his men!! What if they..."

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"But, Vincent..."

"I said I'm fine," he repeated sternly. He peered very intently at her  
frightened face as he instructed, "Now you go on further down these  
woods until you.."

"No! No, I won't go!!" the girl tearfully refused, shaking her head.

"Aeris, I can't handle this! It's too much for me," Vincent reasoned  
vexedly, "I can't protect you AND fight Davoren at the same time. He's  
not holding back anymore, so I have to focus all my concentration on him.  
But I can't, Aeris; you're a distraction. I have to watch your back as well as  
mine; and every time you cry and scream, I slip off my guard, like just  
now. Do as I say. Go to..."

"No! No! No!" she insisted stubbornly, "You either come with me, or I  
stay! but I won't leave you!!"

"You know I can't go. Somebody has to push these men back..."

"But you're hurt! Look! Look, you're bleeding!!!"

"Forget me. It's..."

"..and Davoren swore he'd kill you...slowly and painfully!! Didn't you  
hear him?!! You..you'll die if you face him again! You can't fight him  
in your condition! He'll kill you on the spot!!!"

"I'll be all right. Aeris, you..."

"No, I won't leave you!! because if I leave now, I know I'll never see  
you again!! He'll murder you in cold-blood!! I don't..."

"JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!!!!" Vincent shouted in anger, glaring  
furiously at the poor, frantic girl.

Dumbstruck by his angry words, Aeris stared back at him in mute shock.  
She had never heard him raise his voice like that, not even against his  
worst enemies.

Vincent paused a moment to soothe his enraged temper, then resumed with  
forced calmness, "If you stay here, you'll either die or get captured.  
I'm too battered...and the explosion knocked a lot out of me...I can't even  
see that clearly anymore. That's why I want you to leave. Because I can't  
protect you from the bullets and fight back at the same time. It's too  
much for me to handle. Now Aeris, do as I say, and don't argue back; I  
haven't the time to hear it."

The girl said nothing.

"Go through the woods, until you reach a little road. Run down the  
road, take the first turn, and you'll find the exit. Run as fast as you can  
away from here."

Poor Aeris covered her mouth to suppress her anguished tears. Her  
shoulders couldn't stop shaking. She bowed her head in pained  
submission. Cocking his gun, Vincent staggered up to his feet again. Both legs ached  
miserably.

"The minute you leave this place, go get help," Vincent instructed in a  
business-like tone, "find a policeman, a police station, a phone,  
anything. Call Tifa and Cloud. They'll help you right away."

Aeris only nodded her head, but did not stand or look up at him. Many  
bitter sobs escaped her. She only restrained them out of fear Vincent  
might lose his temper again.

"No matter what happens to me...no matter what you hear, do NOT come  
back for me. Do you understand?"

She feebly nodded her head again.

"Aeris, do you understand?"

"....y..yes....."

A very awkward moment of silence followed. The tearful girl sat  
trembling on the ground, overcome by wretched misery. Vincent gazed down at her  
very thoughtfully.

What he intended to do probably came very close to suicide. Against  
Davoren's ruthless brutality, he had little chance of survival,  
especially in his desperate condition. But he had to buy Aeris some time to escape,  
even at the risk of his own life. And at least with her safely out of  
the way, he could focus his attention on the fight better (and maybe  
actually survive).

Vincent helped the poor girl up to her feet, then turned around to  
leave. He avoided her eyes.

"Go now," he dismissed gently. His tone sounded much softer than  
before.

Immediately, Vincent dashed away back towards the enemy. He didn't look  
back at Aeris.

-End of Chp.39

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	37. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.40

As noiselessly as a cat, Vincent snuck along the many black trees and  
frozen hedges. He kept his head low; his back stooped over in cautious  
alertness. Despite the vicious pain tearing at his feverish chest, he  
had somehow managed to suppress his gasps into light breaths. His hot hand  
gripped the gun very tightly.

A mild dizziness still clung to him. Tiny blood droplets trailed after  
him as he trudged through the white snow. Indeed, he was bleeding badly.

He made his way through the black forest, sneaking hurriedly but quite  
cautiously. Every few steps, Vincent paused behind a tree to listen out  
for any suspicious noise or unnatural movement. When sure no mercenary  
lurked  
around, he resumed his stealthy path.

He caught himself worrying about Aeris again. Annoyed, he immediately  
pushed her out of his thoughts. The poor girl had been so distressed  
when he sent he away, especially after losing his temper. But it was for the  
best. She was safe, and without her weighing him down, Vincent had a  
better chance of fighting.

He had to buy Aeris enough time to escape this hectic park. Very  
"chivalrous", to use Davoren's mocking words. But what about himself?  
How will he escape this deathtrap, his condition so miserable, his ammo  
dwindling, and the fit already rattling his chest? Would he think up  
"something" during the battle, or did he intend to escape at all?

Again he shoved those morbid thoughts aside. Instead, he forced a most  
cool-minded concentration on the task at hand. Undoubtedly, those  
mercenaries had scattered themselves through the woods, probably with  
Davoren in lead of the final manhunt. Vincent had to fully keep his wits  
about him, and be careful how he fought: he only had ten bullets left.

He stealthily slipped amongst the trees and bushes, choosing the  
darkest paths possible. Though battered and a bit limp, he moved quickly. All  
his senses sharpened in readiness; he expected to encounter an enemy any  
moment.

A most unnatural silence loomed about these black woods. The dead tree  
branches hung in perfect desolation, not stirred by a breath of wind.  
The snow-laden bushes timidly watched this lonesome intruder prowl about.  
The still air stung with such bitter coldness. Everything was calm; the  
sort of calm that precedes violent storms.

To Vincent's suspicious mind, this peace seemed only a premonition to  
another brutal attack. He stopped dead in his tracks, and pricked up his  
ears to listen. His hot fingers tensed against the gun; his mistrustful  
eyes darted from one corner to the other.

He sensed a pair of evil, pink eyes staring at him from behind.

With deadly swiftness, he turned around and pointed his gun straight at  
Davoren. The gunman, indeed, stood some distance away from him. Davoren  
made no move to attack (at least not yet), but stood in his place, his  
semi-automatic gun gripped by his side. In the bleak darkness, he  
appeared as a tall, black shadow with two gleaming pink eyes. They flickered  
amusedly at Vincent's cold glare.

In all anticipation, Vincent awaited this man's next move. He did not  
lower his gun.

"I'm impressed. You actually managed to tear yourself away from the  
little girl," the gunman chuckled balefully, "Where did you hide her? Up a tree  
with the hibernating squirrels, or in some bushes all by herself?"

Vincent, of course, would not reveal anything. However, he took  
comfort in one fact: Davoren did not know where Aeris had went. Hopefully, by the  
time he would search for her, she'd have already fled this park.

"It would have been so much easier if you surrendered her to me, then  
just let me kill you. All this hassle and squabbling is really unnecessary,"  
Davoren sighed, peering fixedly at his enemy, "At least your carcass  
would look presentable instead of getting it all beat-up like that."

No answer.

Ignoring the gun so rigidly pointed at him, Davoren looked his enemy  
bottom to top, then rested his piercing pink eyes on Vincent's cold,  
stoic face. The latter did not flinch a muscle at the contemptuous gaze.

Slowly but quite confidently, Davoren ventured towards Vincent, then  
stopped again, this time only ten steps away.

"Don't you know it's useless, o' dear friend of mine? No amount of  
fighting will make a difference. Hide that girl anywhere, I'll find her  
again. Kill me, I'll return three times more brutal."

Still no reply.

"There is nothing you, me, or anyone else can do to stop him.  
The Professor refuses to be deterred, no matter what the obstacles be,  
no matter what the consequences are. He MUST finish this experiment. This  
one, single experiment must be completed."

"What 'experiment', Davoren?" demanded Vincent sharply. His voice  
strained with tried vexation, but also a touch of desperation,  
"What does this 'Professor' of yours want? You and  
I...Aeris..everything...  
what's the connection??"

Though a thick veil of darkness separated the two men, Vincent could  
still see that vicious sneer playing on Davoren's lips.

"Hmph!" the gunman scoffed, "And what's the point wasting my breath  
explaining, when you'll die tonight anyway?"

Vincent's cold face darkened at the scornful reply. In return,  
Davoren's bright pink eyes only narrowed with further mockery; they betrayed  
nothing save cunning brutality. For an awkward moment, neither man moved, but  
glared at each other fixedly.

Without warning, Vincent suddenly leapt back, at the same instant  
opening fire on Davoren. As expected, the gunman dodged behind a nearby tree  
just in time, then heartily returned the attack tenfold. He sprayed the  
entire forest, sparing no tree or bush to kill his target.

Amidst all this insane gunfire, Vincent immediately fled the scene.  
Rather than waste any more bullets, he bolted towards the other side of these  
dismal woods. The bullets flew after him. They ripped the bark off  
trees, snatched twigs from bushes, and overthrew dirt into the air; anything to  
reach him.

Davoren had obviously decided to give chase through the forest. The  
gunshots came twice as savagely, each hot piece of lead screaming for  
Vincent's blood. This was the final shoot-out.

His speed a mad rush, Vincent darted through this forest without even  
glimpsing behind, never mind shooting back. The deadly rain mercilessly  
pursued him wherever he went. At times, the wild bullets zinged by his  
ears, other times blasted right between his feet.

The woods stretched into a confusing maze of endless shadows and  
shapeless figures, all rushing past him with no meaning. His eyesight still  
bleary, Vincent could only rely on his sharp hearing to survive this madness.  
The light scuffling of Davoren's shoes in the snow, his rapid movements  
amongst the trees, all warned Vincent which direction to run, more importantly  
where to dodge.

Despite the chaos, he could feel the fit chew on his ravaged lungs. A  
bitter hot taste, much like blood, teased his throat.

Barely in time, Vincent sensed Davoren suddenly flank to his left. He  
instantly flew into an obscure thicket of trees, just before the maddest  
shower of bullets blasted at him. Vincent broke off in another  
direction, cutting his way through a tight throng of knotted trees. The angry  
bullets came after him.

Vincent grit his teeth: the gunman was beginning to catch up with him.  
Soon, he'd be able to easily outrun him and shoot from any direction he  
pleased. Not that Davoren had become any faster, rather Vincent had  
grown extremely slower, even after removing Aeris and focusing all his  
efforts on  
escape.

His wounds must have been far more grievous than believed.

Vincent's senses instantly forewarned him of danger up ahead. Much to  
his alarm, a mercenary suddenly jumped out from the bushes, thereby cutting  
off this escape route. With one big effort, Vincent swung sharply to the  
side, just as the man opened full fire. He rolled through some entangled  
hedges, where he somehow returned to his feet again and bolted away at top  
speed. The gunshots chased him.

He hadn't run too long when the two other mercenaries ran like madmen  
into the path. On catching sight of their target, they automatically sprayed  
the entire surroundings with hot bullets, as well as wild shouts and swears.

Ambushed this way too, Vincent scuffled to an abrupt halt, then  
instantly backtracked his path. He sought refuge behind the trees again. Though he  
fired twice to push them back, the two mercenaries persistently chased  
him. They returned his meek shots with torrents of bullets. The more Vincent  
dodged the bombardment, the angrier it grew.

Obviously, the three remaining mercenaries had rushed over on hearing  
the loud commotion. They would spare no bullet to kill Vincent first and  
attain the generous bounty on his head. "Free-competition", as they termed it.

Davoren had cleverly surrounded him from three sides, knowing well  
Vincent lacked the ammunition or strength to fight four men at once. Yet if  
Vincent did not escape this crazy deathtrap NOW, surely he wouldn't survive  
another minute.

The question was : how?

The first mercenary suddenly made his appearance again, this time right  
infront of Vincent. The path had been cut off from both ends: front and  
back.

But before the mercenary could open fire, Vincent lunged sideways,  
straight into some thick backwoods. He dashed past the crowded trees,  
followed behind by stray bullets and gruff bellows. No matter what, the  
mercenaries would hunt him down.

Vincent could hardly distinguish his path in such suffocating darkness,  
but heedlessly raced on. The voices of the three men gradually receded  
into the background the farther he plunged into the woods.

He knew for certain two bullets had seriously wounded his leg, one his  
arm, another his waist; that is of course besides the cuts and bruises.  
He did not bother noticing the wretched pain.

All of a sudden, Vincent detected a familiar presence close in on him  
from the far side. The ruthless gunman had found him again, and instantly  
moved in for the kill.

With a rough scuffle of the foot, Vincent darted away from his brutal  
assailant, just as a wild surge of bullets tore at the clustered trees.  
He kept his head low as the madness raged after him, blasting overhead and  
all around him.

A sickly sensation clogged his throat. His battered, beaten body could  
not keep up with this madness any longer.

The black woods ended abruptly. It immediately opened onto a rocky  
slope which led to the main gravel path down below. Far too distracted by the  
vicious gunfire, poor Vincent did not notice anything until he slipped.  
Before realizing it, he found himself tumbling very roughly downhill.  
Every jagged rock and brittle shrub in his path either poked, jabbed, or tore  
at him. Dirty snow and sharp pebbles flew into his face.

He spotted the gunman quickly skidding downhill right after him, one  
foot angled as a brake, the other applied for balance. Without a doubt,  
Davoren would not cease the hard attack until he had achieved his goal.

The rough journey finally ended at the foot of the hillside. Vincent  
rolled straight onto the stony road, where he somehow recovered his  
balance again. He instantly made a forceful lunge for one of the trees across  
the road, at the same time dodging a mad rain of bullets. The attack came so  
fiercely, with hot lead flying everywhere, Vincent had to finish his run  
for cover by scurrying on all fours.

He somehow managed to reach the sanctuary through all the crazy  
bombardment. Vincent tumbled behind the sturdy tree, then huddled  
against the bark. During the entire shoot-out, he hadn't stopped running until  
this moment.

Nearly an hour had passed since Vincent had forced Aeris away. The girl  
had probably cleared the hectic park by now. Perhaps she had somehow  
found assistance, maybe even phoned Tifa and Cloud. In any case, he had  
succeeded: he had distracted Davoren and his men long enough for her to  
escape (and saved as many bullets as possible). Nobody would know she  
had fled until too late.

The question struck him so bluntly: now what?

He had no more strength to run around, too little ammo to fight four  
men, and a murderous coughing fit squeezing his lungs.

Miserable hardly described his state. Hot blood soaked his wounds. His  
sleeves were torn, pants ripped, and long overcoat tattered from bullets  
and smudged in filth. A stinging fever burned his limbs, from the roots  
of his hair down to his toes. Every breath invited a fresh surge of pain.  
He felt drained, the very life beaten out of him; even blinking his eyes  
hurt.

So what should he do? Fight the gunman with...what...five bullets left  
and blurry eyesight? Run away, his agility so wretchedly reduced? Surely  
Davoren would not magically revert to his former kindness and spare  
Vincent's life. And those mercenaries would soon catch up to this  
place; he could already hear them approaching the edge of the woods. In all  
honesty, Vincent could barely fight unconsciousness, let alone three  
blood-thirsty thugs.

If he knew any solution out of this deadly dilemma, NOW was the time to act.

He wrangled his mind for an answer. Of all the little plans and  
desperate strategies he schemed out, Vincent chose what sounded the best one:  
disarm Davoren somehow before those men arrived. Five bullets of fifty,  
battered body or not, he simply had no other option.

Although seemingly an eternity, all this intense deliberation had only  
lasted a mere twenty seconds. Even the wild bullets hadn't calmed down  
during this brief time lapse.

Vincent decidedly shoved his gun into the holster. Disregarding the  
deadly bombardment, he rolled out into the open, where he immediately  
recovered to his feet again. Vincent lunged forward at top speed, straight for the  
ruthless gunman who stood some distance away. He had dived back into the  
battle.

Surprised by the unexpected move, Davoren changed the attack mode to a  
full-scale shooting frenzy. The gun vibrated angrily in his hands as he  
fired non-stop at this daring enemy.

However, Vincent rushed forward in such an incredible zigzag path,  
feet scuffling sideways to direct him through this crazy madness. He strained  
his hearing to dodge the violent bullets. Every fiber in his muscles  
fought to keep up the momentum.

His speed and vigor, WELL beyond normal, resembled a demon's. He darted  
down the road so quickly, dashing here then there and back again, even  
the bullets could not keep up with such an insane pace (or rather, the  
gunman could not sway his aim that fast). Davoren grew more fierce in his  
attack, Vincent more determined in his charge.

Suddenly, Vincent was only two yards away, not just alive, but still  
charging at full force. The gunman could not conceal his shocked  
astonishment.

In the blink of an eye, Vincent sprang at his amazed enemy. With all  
his might, he forcefully rammed his metallic forearm right into Davoren's  
throat. The violent impact sent Davoren hurtling backwards through the  
air, until he crashed into a tree on the roadside. His whole back and head  
absorbed the brutal shock.

On the other hand, Vincent tumbled over several times to brake his mad  
speed, then somehow returned to his feet.

This last-ditch attack had only lasted a minute.

More stunned by the hard iron blow than anything else, Davoren slumped  
down against the tree, then hunched over. He rubbed his battered throat  
as his teeth grit themselves to repress a curse.

Suddenly, Davoren realized his gun had slipped out of his hands during  
the violent collision. Indeed, it lay rudely discarded in the wild shrubs  
some distance away. He instantly reached for his other gun  
(the silvery-grey one he had holstered inside his coat at the very  
beginning).

However, the gunman stopped short on noticing a gun pointed directly at  
his forehead. On looking up, Davoren met Vincent's cold, crimson eyes  
gazing emotionlessly down at him. The defeated man mechanically withdrew his  
arm from his trench coat down to his side.

Neither man spoke or flinched a muscle. One stood towering over his  
prisoner, the other sat humbly hunched over in submission.

A miracle. In one amazing sweep, Vincent had turned the tide to his  
favor. He himself scarcely understood how had managed such an insane feat, his  
body in such a battered state. Most likely, a devil had taken pity on  
him, and flew to his aid.

Now he had the enemy at gunpoint. Unlike last time, the weapon had  
bullets. Vincent certainly felt no hesitation or a twinge of compassion  
for his vanquished enemy. One shot would end this long, hectic battle. One  
shot, and this ghost would return to the dark past where he belonged.

Yes, one shot. However, Vincent had a better idea.

A wild stampeding of heavy boots and loud shouts quickly filled the  
air. At long last, Davoren's followers had arrived. Nevertheless, Vincent did  
not take his eyes off the prisoner or waver in his aim.

The three mercenaries soon emerged out of the black woodlands, having  
finally found the end to that arborous maze. With guns flashing, they  
skidded down the rocky slope until they reached the foot of the  
hillside.

On spotting their target standing some distance away, they all aimed  
their weapons, ready to open full fire with a string of curses. But instantly,  
they fell into an alarmed silence, and no man shot a single bullet.  
Their eyes widened in horrified disbelief.

And for a good reason too. They had noticed their leader slumped down  
infront of the enemy, disarmed, and at his total mercy.

Vincent cast an indifferent glance at the three men, who stupidly  
gawked back at him, unsure what to do. Davoren sat motionlessly without a  
word. He stared at the ground, his face devoid of any expression.

With such an unexpected turn of events, nobody breathed a word. Vincent  
now had the ace. He would decide the next move.

-End of Chp.40

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	38. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.41

"All of you get back," Vincent ordered.

He addressed the three mercenaries very sternly, eyeing each man with  
icy contempt. His gun remained rigidly fixed on Davoren's forehead, as if  
warning them any wrong move would be fatal.

The defeated gunman, on the other hand, had succumbed to his fate in  
resentful silence. He sat against the tree, body slumped forward, and  
knees drawn up but wide apart to support his tired posture. Both gloved hands  
lay heaped between his legs where they could be clearly seen. He would have  
no part in this scene.

Their leader thus taken hostage, the enemy now dictating the orders,  
the three mercenaries fidgeted confusedly in their spots, exchanging  
nervous glances between each other. Their guns remained silently pointed at the  
enemy, which only added to their stupid appearance.

"Get back," Vincent demanded again, this time more forcefully.

They still hesitated.

Losing all his patience, Vincent tilted his aim slightly to the side  
just before firing once. Davoren gave a violent start when the loud bullet  
zinged right past his ear, and blasted the tree behind instead.

"NOW!!" Vincent thundered at the three ineffective men.

They dared not question this man's authority any further. The three  
mercenaries lowered their disappointed guns. Very deliberately, they  
began retreating backwards. The palms of their hands were raised to prove  
they intended no heroics or sneaky tricks.

Considering his scarce ammo, Vincent had decided not to waste it on  
these small-fry. Only four bullets remained; best saved for the prize prisoner  
instead. The mercenaries had seen their less fortunate comrades fall  
under Vincent's deadly gun. So by this stage, they knew better than to risk  
some "surprise attack" to rescue their captured leader. In short, they were  
no real threat; Davoren was.

Vincent silently watched them fall back, at the same time keeping his  
gun fixed on Davoren's forehead. Soon, the three men reached the end of the  
black road, where they disappeared behind the trees, and never returned  
again.

After so many brutal disruptions, the heavy silence resumed its formal  
course in the dark park.

Alone at last, Vincent gazed very pensively down at the silent  
prisoner. His gun stayed rigidly fixed on its mark. Davoren still sat in a slumped  
position, hands bare and head bowed. Rips and tears, some quite brutal,  
ruined his black trench coat. Several white hair strands dangled before  
his dirty face. His expression remained stoically cold.

Vincent stood towering over the defeated man, his forearm drawn up to  
hold the gun, the claw hanging idly by his side. All his clothes were  
tattered, especially his right sleeve, where the huge rip exposed an  
ugly wound. Filth, blots of frozen blood, and dozens of tiny scratch marked  
his haggard face. Countless wounds stung his limbs. Hot blood dripped off  
his hand onto the stony ground. The fever burned his eyes to their sockets.

Indeed, the battle now concluded, that last charge slowly began to  
take its toll on him. Such an insane attack under fire had taxed his sore  
muscles and depleted his strength. However, Vincent resisted the violent  
pain bubbling inside his hot chest. He would not have a coughing fit,  
not when he could he finally get some questions answered.

He had spared, or rather prolonged, Davoren's life for the sole  
purpose of interrogating him.

For a long time, neither man spoke a word.

"I always used to give you advice...how to handle open battles.. you  
were still a rookie back then...," Davoren remarked flatly without looking  
up, "...improve your hearing senses....keep all wits about you.  
I remember once I taught you how to counter-attack a grenade. Bravo.  
I certainly didn't expect you to go charging at me like that. You sure  
knocked me out back there."

The praise received no answer.

"But for God's sake, don't go shooting by my head like that," Davoren  
begged, slowly rubbing his ear, "Bullets are pretty loud, y'know. Last  
thing I want is a hearing aid."

Another awkward silence followed.

"What's Professor Hojo's experiment, Davoren?" Vincent asked.

"....'Hojo'?"

At the mention of the familiar name, the defeated man lifted his head  
up to his captor. He found Vincent's expression unnaturally cold, with deep  
crimson eyes steadily fixed on him.

"Now why would you think Professor Hojo is behind this? Is he the  
only Professor in the world?" Davoren mocked with a broad, insolent smile.

Vincent paused a moment before replying icily, "This whole business  
reeks with his....crafty handiwork."

Besides his instincts, he had no other proof. True, Hojo had  
supposedly been killed a year ago, yet the possibility he had somehow survived  
remained far too strong to be ignored. Vincent vaguely recalled that  
miserable night when fever had overpowered his sanity: for some reason,  
he had believed himself conversing with none other than Hojo. Also, the  
mysterious words "it's all for the experiment...I must finish the  
experiment" had echoed all throughout his delirium, and repeated again  
in his nightmare.

But if he needed material proof, then Davoren sufficed. Just like  
himself, the gunman hadn't aged a wrinkle in thirty-one years. He  
claimed to serve a "Professor", also his master. All reasoning led to the same  
conclusion: Professor Hojo. Who else could it possibly be but him?

The question persisted: what was this "experiment"?

Vincent gazed more intently down at his prisoner, as though he could  
perhaps guess the answer. The insulting smile remained frozen on  
Davoren's lips. He took no heed of the gun so rigidly fixed at his forehead. He  
hadn't changed his slumped posture, not had Vincent moved either.

A deathly stillness clung to the bitter-cold air. Countless black  
trees had clustered thickly along the road. Their branches, entangled and  
twisted around each other, arched overhead to bar out the beautiful moonlight.

A thick darkness loomed about the empty road, even though the feeble  
lamp posts struggled to disperse it. Both men could only distinguish patches  
of each others faces, the rest being obscured by shadow. However, their  
brilliant eyes shone through this black veil, and locked onto each other  
without wavering.

"You've been searching for me a long time, haven't you?" Vincent  
inquired, finally breaking the icy silence.

"Almost five months," Davoren replied.

"To kill me, obviously."

"Obviously."

"And when you got desperate, you contacted one of my old comrades from  
Avalanche. You hoped she might help you locate me."

Davoren muffled a light snigger with the back of his hand. Mischievous  
cruelty flickered in his eyes.

"I see Miss Lockhart told you....hmmm...I knew I should've killed her  
that day," the terrible gunman joked, "Yes, I did contact her.  
Unfortunately, she was of no help. I thought I should....'interrogate'  
Mr. Strife too, since he was your group leader. But you didn't seem  
particularly close to him, so he probably didn't know either."

Vincent made no response except narrow his eyes down on this ruthless  
man. He hated to imagine what could have happened to Cloud or Tifa had they  
known his whereabouts.

"I spent three months wandering between towns and villages, just  
trying to track you down," Davoren recounted in a dismayed voice, "Of course, I  
didn't find anything, so I returned here to the Professor, and began  
searching Midgar. But y'know, it's a huge city. You could've been  
anywhere, or maybe you weren't in Midgar at all (how would I know?). Even your  
former comrades had no clue where you were. You had simply disappeared, and I  
just about gave up."

No reply.

"But then, that girl escaped the laboratory. The men we sent to catch  
her never came back, and the girl....she vanished without a trace.  
Therefore, the Professor ordered me to capture her, AND retrieve you (dead or  
alive..it didn't matter). Two missions at once. Huh! As if I didn't have  
enough responsibilities already."

The amused smile slowly faded off Davoren's face. He suddenly dropped  
his pink eyes to the ground as he expelled a tired sigh. The gun remained  
directly pointed at his forehead.

"It was a lucky coincidence we met that same day I found the girl. It  
meant I could kill two birds with one stone. Sure, then the Professor  
could finish his experiment. But as you remember, I failed, which really  
pissed off the grouchy old coot. Ah well. At least I knew you had the little  
girl. So if I found her again, I knew I'd find you too."

"Why, Davoren?" asked Vincent dryly but quite calmly, "Why is  
Professor Hojo so bent on Aeris and me? You keep on saying 'it's for the  
experiment', but what is it?"

The prisoner scornfully cast his eyes to the far side. The direct  
question received a most contemptuous silence.

Not at all satisfied with this answer, Vincent forced the cold muzzle  
of his gun against Davoren's forehead.

"What is it, Davoren?" he demanded again, emphasizing each word with  
vexed firmness.

He had grown so weary, both physically and mentally. The cruel fit  
mercilessly clawed at his lungs; Vincent could only suppress the pain by  
sheer force. His chest had begun heaving, slowly but noticeably. Blood  
tickled his parched throat. His wounds stung his feverish, battered  
body.

The illness would not spare him, even though he barely had enough  
strength to stay conscious.

The stiff silence endured for a full minute. Vincent studied his  
prisoner very intently; Davoren remained stubbornly mute. His spiteful pink eyes  
insisted on the far corner, undaunted by the gun's deadly threat, or  
Vincent's cold, hard stare.

"You remember Sephiroth, don't you?" the gunman spoke at last, his  
voice quite serious.

"....S..Sephiroth?" Vincent repeated, somewhat taken aback.

"Yes, the fruit of the JENOVA Project. I believe you and your comrades  
had the honor of battling him a year ago....after he had summoned that  
meteor."

And how could Vincent ever forget? The image of Sephiroth immediately  
sprung to his mind: long silver hair flowing down his back; sadistic  
evil just brimming in those startling emerald-green eyes. His whole figure,  
tall, imposing, and muscular, had certainly struck awe into any heart.  
His insanity had exactly matched his swordsmanship: deadly.

Hard to believe Vincent had met the exact same Sephiroth in the  
ShinRa Mansion, thirty-one long years ago. Who would have dreamed that  
innocent, helpless little child would pave out such a bloody path of destruction,  
nearly sending the Planet into oblivion. Harder still to believe that was  
Lucrecia's son, the very same she had yearned to hug; that she had given  
birth to the same murderous, cold-hearted demon.

Indeed, fate moved in mysterious ways. Yet why had Davoren digressed  
onto such an unexpected, if not irrelevant, topic?

"What does Sephiroth have to do with any of this?" Vincent asked  
suspiciously when he couldn't guess an answer.

"Why, everything," replied the prisoner in a calm, patronizing voice.

A heavy pause followed. Davoren slowly turned his scornful eyes back  
up to his captor's. His face remained frozen cold under Vincent's sharp,  
quizzical scrutiny. He hardly noticed the gun glued to his forehead.

Vincent's muscles tensed as a horrible foreboding gripped his heart.  
He didn't like this silence one bit.

"The Professor....is going to revive Sephiroth," announced Davoren at  
last. His face expressed no emotion.

-End of Chp. 41

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	39. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.42

Time itself stopped. The black woods held its breath to contain the  
shock. Vincent stared back at the gunman in horrified disbelief, his  
senses struck dumb by the news. He pulled his gun back an inch, but kept it  
aimed on its mark.

Davoren pushed back his snow-white hair before resuming coldly,  
"The Professor somehow got hold of Sephiroth...the real one....still  
trapped in that cocoon. He wants to bring him back."

Absolute, dead silence.

"..you and I...that little girl..he's planning on using our spiritual  
energies to breathe life back into the body...sacrifice us for him. And  
it's all to complete Sephiroth's ultimate dream: Planet annihilation."

When thus finished, Davoren gazed at his captor with perfectly stoic  
pink eyes. He seemed to expect some reply or reaction. However, words failed  
Vincent. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, thereby redoubling the  
pain in his hot chest. He could only stare down at the gunman, stunned and  
shocked.

Sephiroth's death alone had saved the Planet. Life, the precious  
life stream itself, had been spared by killing that murderous madman.  
But if through some miracle (or experiment), Sephiroth returned, what would  
happen? Bloody carnages wherever he drifted; chaos and destruction with  
every footstep, until he'd wipe the Planet clean from existence. To  
Sephiroth, it would be so easy, hardly worth the flick of his finger.

So, what should...what COULD be done? Hundreds of ideas raced around,  
all crashing into dead-ends. In truth, Vincent was overwhelmed. Against the  
frightening possibility of a Sephiroth revival, unleashing all that  
terror once again, the man couldn't settle on one thought.

On noticing his friend's apparent anxiety, Davoren released an annoyed  
sigh, as teachers do when students don't grasp a subject.

"Aw geez, Vincent! You're so damn serious all the time!" exclaimed the  
gunman with friendly reproach, "You actually believed all that corny  
Sephiroth bit?! That was supposed to be a joke! Joke as in funny ha-ha!"

For a moment, Vincent did not understand. He gaped blankly at this  
carefree prisoner, completely dumbstruck by his good-humor.  
A "joke"? Held at gunpoint, and Davoren could still "joke"? And about  
Sephiroth no less!

Suddenly, Vincent's whole face darkened to an angry scowl.

With full force, he ruthlessly struck the butt of his gun right  
against Davoren's head. The violent blow knocked the prisoner to the side,  
where he clumsily crashed onto his elbow. His head almost touched the ground;  
some white hair strands even dangled against the dirty snow. He did not  
speak.

Vincent's piercing eyes narrowed in icy contempt as he watched the man  
slowly steady himself again. Davoren slumped against the knotted tree. A  
cold, hard visage had replaced that good-humored expression. His eyes  
remained shut, even with the gun only an inch away from his forehead.

"You've tried my patience long enough for one night, Mr.Davoren,"  
stated Vincent restrainedly, "What is the 'experiment'? Tell me, now!"

"And what'll you do if I refuse, Vincent?" the gunman challenged, more  
sad than daring, "What, you're gonna blow my brains out like last time?"

No answer.

Davoren forced his eyes open again. He slowly ran them over the black,  
shadow-infested surroundings until at last, he met Vincent's cool gaze.

"Heh...your face...it looks exactly like it did that night..," the  
gunman noted humorlessly, "..and now that I mention it, this place.. looks a  
bit like that apple orchard..."

A heavy pause lingered in the chilly air. Both men gazed fixedly at  
each other, neither moving a muscle.

"What is the 'experiment', Davoren?" Vincent insisted again, his voice  
strangely softer this time.

"I'll never tell you. If you think I'll just blab it out, then think  
again. The disclosure of confidential material to unauthorized  
personnel is an unforgivable act of treason, namely to my superiors."

In other words, he would not reveal anything unless the Professor  
himself ordered him to. Davoren would not turn traitor on any account.

"You're awfully loyal to someone who has ruined your body for his own  
purposes," remarked Vincent under his breath.

"Not loyal...slavish."

Another long, painful silence.

Much to his annoyance, Vincent noticed himself gasping very softly  
for a whiff of air. The fever seemed to grow more intense with each agonizing  
minute. Though Vincent stifled many coughs, and fought valiantly to  
dispel the nauseating dizziness, he knew he couldn't resist forever.

But he couldn't afford a fit right now. He must somehow hold the  
illness back, at least until he escaped this crazy deathtrap.

"However, you'll find me a fair man," conceded the gunman suddenly, his  
face brightening with a mysterious smile, "I won't betray my master, but  
for old times' sake, I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm being  
serious now, I swear!"

Vincent nevertheless gazed very, very mistrustfully down at this man,  
but did not interrupt. The gun stood ready between them.

"You've been having terrible coughing fits for a while, right?"  
Davoren began as he eyed his captor curiously, "What do you suppose they are,  
anyway?"

Vincent only tensed at the mention of the dreaded illness.

"Well, I'll tell you. It's not a disease, it's the brain device."

"....'brain device'?"

"Yes. When he...Professor Hojo altered our bodies thirty-one years  
ago, he surgically implanted this tiny device in our brains. It's a small  
thing, really....flat, about the size of a pea."

Davoren took in a deep breath before continuing, "When it's inactive,  
nothing happens to you. But when it's activated, ah! It sends out all  
these crazy 'impulses' that mess around with your body, especially your lungs.  
Please don't ask for a technical explanation. I haven't a clue about all  
the neurology and electric jargon involved."

Vincent reflected a moment then asked coolly, "And Professor Hojo is  
the person who activates this device, I presume?"

"Correct. He's implanted the activator...or 'remote' into his own  
brain. So, he activates our brain devices mentally....with just one thought,  
completely at whim."

No reply.

"If you get out of line, he just cranks it up a notch, and you get a  
nasty fit. You splutter out blood, get a fever, throw up, or plunge  
into a coma. It all depends on how bad he makes the attack. If he makes it  
strong enough (I mean STRONG), you get severe brain fever."

Davoren paused to note the effect this news had on his silent captor.  
His bright pink eyes gleamed mockingly back at Vincent's icy, mistrustful  
gaze.

"See, the Professor wanted to make sure we all remained somehow yoked  
under his command, no matter where we went, no matter how much time  
passed. He wanted to make sure when it was time to complete the experiment,  
we'd be in his control (or at least under his thumb). We all have some brain  
device in our heads, but each serves a different function."

"What do you mean 'different function'?"

"You and I got one. It's to keep us under his control . A-25...that's  
the girl's specimen codename, she has one too in her brain. Not for the  
lungs, of course. It would have killed her instantly. She's not...abnormal like  
us. Hers actually is a kind of tracking device. The Professor can track  
her down mentally, but not everywhere. She has to be really close by, or  
out in the open, like here."

Davoren tiredly rubbed his temples as he concluded at last, "The boy  
has a brain device too, but it's activated with a damn brain scanner, not  
mentally like the rest of us. He's a rather....special case. See, we all  
have a little brain device inside our heads, each for a different  
purpose. It's a really complicated web, but everything adds up to the experiment  
in the end, just like a jigsaw puzzle."

Silence once more.

Vincent brooded over this new information: it all became so clear  
now. As long as Aeris had remained safe in the apartment, the signal could not  
be received; so they had no idea where to find her. Yet the minute she had  
stepped outside, Hojo had picked up her signal, and pin-pointed her  
location. Davoren wasn't psychic. The Professor had merely informed  
him of the girl's location. That explained how he had discovered her that  
miserable day, and how he found her again tonight.

"So, what you're saying, is that the Professor has been mentally  
causing my fits...to bring me under his control?" Vincent inquired, wearied of  
the lengthy interrogation as well as his illness.

"Hmmm...I suppose you could say that. He knows you'd never just give  
in to him like I did. The plan was he'd weaken you with coughing  
fits....make you so sick and helpless, so that when I found you, you'd be an easy target."

Vincent made no comment about the underhanded scheme, at least not aloud.

"Well, easy for HIM to say! I'm the one who does all the hard work  
here. But I didn't find you that quickly, and when I did, you beat me.  
Yes, your resistance and endurance have both FAR exceeded the Professor's  
expectations. You certainly got the old coot fuming around, screaming  
for your head. Heh heh..you two never got along that well, did you?"

Vincent frowned at Davoren's pleasantry, but remained morosely silent.  
His thoughts searched for a proper meaning to this madness: the  
interrogation had certainly enlightened him to many truths, yet had also  
created more questions without any answers. It all centered around an  
"experiment", into which all the puzzle pieces fitted to form a whole  
picture.

But what was this picture? None of the pieces made sense, just  
confusing, irregular shapes.

So brutally, so suddenly, the fit cut off his train of thoughts: it  
would no longer be suppressed.

A most violent, sudden surge of pain ripped clean through Vincent's  
lungs. The ruthless attack had completely caught him off guard, being  
ten times stronger and indescribably fierce.

In the worst possible timing, Vincent had finally lost control over  
the brutal illness. He staggered heavily to the side, coughing the life out  
of his ravaged chest while fighting for air. Hot blood gargled up his  
throat. The fever and dizziness instantly drowned his senses. He could not  
breathe, see, or steady himself anymore.

With a vicious sneer, Davoren embraced the opportunity.

The gunman immediately sprang to his feet, at the same time yanking  
out his grey gun from its holster. With one ruthless swing, he struck the  
butt of his weapon right under Vincent's chin. The savage blow sent Vincent  
sprawling onto the stony ground, where he tumbled over a few times,  
still coughing violently.

He had no strength to wrestle this fit or repress the pain. They both  
wreaked vengeance against his battered body. He lay there so helplessly  
on the ground, hacking and heaving in coarse, loud gasps.

The agony stretched into an eternity. Chaos swam around his numb  
head. He wondered why he was still alive; the gunman should have killed him by  
now.

At long last, the attack eased off a step to gloat over its success.  
Vincent found himself writhing weakly on his back, each gasp a stab to  
his bleeding lungs. The gun had somehow slipped out of his fingers, probably  
when he had been knocked down. His sore, wounded limbs burned in  
feverish flames. He felt faint to the point of nausea.

When his eyesight finally returned, Vincent found Davoren looking back  
down at him.

The triumphant gunman stood tall, vindictively watching his fallen  
enemy struggle in misery. His cold face expressed nothing but cruel delight.  
His shiny grey gun hung tightly by his side.

Indeed, the tables had turned most cruelly against poor Vincent once  
again. He lay at Davoren's complete mercy; a word which held no meaning  
to that man whatsoever.

A heavy silence.

"A few days ago, you had this murder of a fever, huh? Bet it even  
knocked you out cold for a while," Davoren remarked amusedly, "That was the  
Professor's way of helping me out. He gave you that nasty attack...just  
messed you up right to the point of brain fever. He wanted to make sure  
next time we met, you'd be in really, really BAD shape, like you are  
right now. I got...additional back-up this time."

Vincent only forced his head away in contempt.

"Aw, don't be so mad just because I fight dirty. Heh heh...well, I'd  
say I pretty much have you cornered: the girl from one side, those  
mercenaries from another, me another, and then the Professor hanging like a plague on top of you. Tonight just isn't your night, is it Mr. Valentine?"

No reply; Davoren didn't expect any.

A stampede of loud footsteps quickly rushed towards the scene. Though  
they had most certainly retreated, the three mercenaries hadn't  
abandoned their leader just yet (not with such a generous reward at stake).  
Instead, they had fallen back some distance, and anxiously awaited a gunshot, a  
cry for help, or any sound in fact. On hearing the loud skirmish, they had  
instantly raced over again, guns out and ready.

They found their leader standing tall over the fallen enemy, his back  
fully turned to them. The three men gaped a moment at the sight, then  
instantly thronged behind Davoren. They howled out rowdy cheers and  
relieved swears: victory had chosen their side! What mattered their dead  
comrades? The reward would compensate the loss!

Their joyous excitement, however, quickly died down with one wave of  
Davoren's hand. The three silent men lingered behind like hungry wolves,  
turning from Davoren's stubborn back then down to Vincent, who lay  
heaving in pain on the ground. None of them spoke a word, but anticipated the  
command to kill this prize prey.

All this time, Davoren had kept his eyes fixed down on Vincent, who in  
return, kept his diverted to the side. Both their faces maintained a  
hard, unnaturally stoic expression.

"Where is the girl, Mr. Valentine?" demanded the gunman icily.

Vincent understood why his life had been prolonged: Davoren still  
hadn't captured Aeris. No one except himself knew for sure where she had  
disappeared.

However, he remained silent.

"Where is she, Mr. Valentine?" repeated Davoren.

Still no answer.

The brutal kick came right into Vincent's side, just below his rib  
cage. He rolled sharply to the side as he fought to suppress the violent  
pain. He gnashed his teeth, and squeezed his eyes so tightly. Davoren watched on  
a moment or two before delivering another powerful kick, this time against  
Vincent's head.

With a sharp grunt, poor Vincent unresistingly rolled onto his  
stomach. He writhed on the ground, one hand clutching his injured side as  
though he could perhaps tear the pain away. His gasps grew coarse again. A  
stinging numbness buzzed around his head.

Davoren stood emotionlessly over the suffering man, while the three  
uneasy mercenaries fidgeted behind. When Vincent still insisted on his  
silence, the gunman squatted down beside him. Very callously, he lifted  
Vincent's head up by the hair, then twisted it up so that they could see  
each other.

"I'll ask you one last time, Vincent: where is she?" Davoren whispered  
softly. A vicious pink fire lit up his eyes.

Nevertheless, Vincent would not speak.

Scoffing contemptuously, the ruthless gunman flung Vincent's head back  
against the stony ground. The battered man lay flat on his stomach. His  
limbs trembled from fever and illness. He could hardly breathe.

Davoren stood up again. He forcefully implanted one foot against  
Vincent's back, taking no heed of the man's irregular gasps.

"Alright, girl! I know you can hear me!" he ordered in a loud, clear  
voice, "Mr. Valentine has done a marvelous job protecting you, and  
that's to say the very least. I truly am impressed! Unfortunately for him,  
he's fallen under my shoe, and here's my gun, pointed right at his head!"

In saying that, Davoren aimed the deadly weapon at its intended mark.  
Vincent had no strength to move.

"It makes no difference to the Professor," Davoren assured with a  
sneer, "He doesn't care if I bring back Vincent dead or alive, and sure as  
Hell, I don't care either. However, IF you'd prefer him alive, then come out  
and we'll....negotiate his life."

A long, dead silence answered the proposition.

Vincent kept his scornful eyes lowered to the very ground. His chest  
heaved up and down, trying to squeeze in a breath under Davoren's heavy  
foot. The terrible gunman scanned the black surroundings suspiciously. He  
kept his gun rigidly fixed on his victim's head without wavering.

No one appeared; not a sound stirred.

"Uh...Mr. Davoren, s-sir?" suggested one of the mercenaries  
hesitantly, "...maybe she ain't here...maybe..she ran away..."

"Yeah! She probably did!" voiced another mercenary, rather stupidly,  
"This bastard sure kept us busy long enough for..."

"Run away?" snorted Davoren in a spiteful but calm voice. A most  
sinister smile curled his lips, "Run away, and leave her precious guardian angel  
alone in the hands of a devil like me? I think not. She's here, no doubt  
about it."

The mercenaries fidgeted in an uncomfortable silence, casting nervous  
glances at each other then at their leader.

"I...I don't think she's here, Sir," ventured one of the men, trying  
his best to sound brave, "We all got caught up with chasing this freak  
around. The girl must've taken off by herself in the middle of the fight..."

Davoren gave all three men one sharp look behind his back to strike  
them silent again. Frightened by the malicious stare, they fumbled awkwardly  
in their spots, but dared not open their mouths anymore.

Vincent hadn't lifted his vacant eyes from the ground during this  
entire time. His face, haggard from illness and exhaustion, remained  
expressionless.

The gunman glanced around one last time, then announced sternly, "I'll  
give you to the count of three to come out, my dear, then I'll shoot  
him."

Vincent shut his eyes. He knew the threat would go unanswered. The  
mercenaries spoke the truth: Aeris had fled the park long ago. She would  
never return. To be sure, Davoren was mistaken in his notion. He was  
only talking to the empty woods.

"One," began the countdown.

Nothing.

"Two."

Still nothing.

"Three!"

Tense apprehension, anxious expectation, but no gunshot.

Strange, a heavy silence had followed instead of a loud bullet.  
Vincent slowly re-opened his eyes, confused by this unnatural stillness. He  
still lay pinned under Davoren's foot; the gun still pointed at his head. Then  
why hadn't there been an ear-splitting gunshot? What did this silence  
mean?

His eyes happened to stray over to one of the trees right across the  
road. Vincent stared in absolute shock, as if struck by lightening. He  
had found the reason.

There stood Aeris, breathless and on the verge of tears. She hadn't  
run away after all.

-End of Chp.42

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	40. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.43

In his moment of triumph, Davoren smiled to himself in delicious  
self-satisfaction. Playful malice lit up his pink, evil eyes.

"Ah! So there you are, my dear!" he greeted amicably.

Aeris stood some distance away from these men, rooted by a stout,  
knotted tree along the roadside. The feeble lamp light fell on her face  
and figure, while the surroundings remained in pitch darkness.

She did not speak, but gasped hard for air, at the same time trying to  
repress her tears. Evidently, she had flown here at top speed; small  
beads of perspiration gently trickled down her forehead; her bosom  
heaved up and down.

Her whole face expressed painful distress, if not tumultuous horror, as  
she stood witness to this brutal scene. Both fear and alarm had gathered  
into her green, tearful eyes. A pink flush colored her cheeks, making  
her appear quite distraught but all the more beautiful. She trembled  
non-stop.

Without a doubt, this horrible gunman terrorized her to the bottom of  
her heart. Nevertheless, she faced him fully, eyes anxiously fixed on  
his.

It took Vincent a long moment to realize that Aeris had actually  
returned instead of escaping as believed. Still pinned flat under  
Davoren's foot, he stared in disbelief at the shaking girl. All his  
muscles had frozen solid. He hardly noticed the terrible pain clawing  
his lungs. Indeed, this new shock had struck him dumb.

Davoren, on the other hand, stood triumphant over his prize catch, one  
foot riveted into Vincent's back, the gun unmistakably aimed at the  
man's head. The calm yet smug look on his face gave him a most sinister  
appearance, especially with his black trench coat dirtied and tattered  
from the previous battle.

The three mercenaries, much impressed with their leader's incredible  
foresight, lingered behind in a forced silence. Each man eyed the  
distressed girl too curiously, with an inane smirk or meaningful nudge  
to his comrade. Their guns were lowered, their demeanor at total ease.

The heavy silence endured for a whole, painful minute.

"Heh! All this time, you had the perfect opportunity to escape. Now if  
you had run away, I wouldn't have been able to find you again," Davoren  
laughed. He lifted his foot from Vincent's back, then scraped the dirty  
sole of his shoe into the man's head, "But then, I knew you'd never tear  
yourself away from Mr. Valentine. Well, I'm not complaining! You sure  
saved me the trouble of searching for you all over again."

Aeris clasped her hands over her heart, but said nothing.

"Now then. Let's get down to business, shall we?" invited the cruel  
gunman. He stepped away from his fallen victim.

Grabbing Vincent by the collar, Davoren roughly yanked him off the  
stony ground. He held him upright from behind, so that poor Aeris could  
behold "her guardian" in his worst state.

Vincent had no choice but to succumb to this rough treatment. The  
fever, dizziness, injuries, and nausea had wrecked him to the brink of  
unconsciousness. If Davoren had released him at that moment, he would  
have undoubtedly collapsed down like a rock. Coarse gasps escaped his  
raging chest. He felt so weak, so heavy.

Yet Vincent still stared fixedly at Aeris as though she were a ghost.  
The girl, however, avoided his look at any cost. It seemed all her  
painful misery might explode if she ever met his eyes.

Davoren waited another moment before suddenly yanking Vincent slightly  
to the side, so that Aeris could now see him too. The gunman still kept  
a tight grip on his prisoner, holding him close from behind to prevent  
any escape.

Vincent hung by the collar without a breath of resistance;  
he had none to offer.

"Y'know, I've just about had of with this guy," Davoren remarked  
playfully, "I've been trying to kill him all night, and haven't quite  
succeeded yet. I certainly didn't expect Mr. Valentine to survive this  
long, especially in his sick condition."

Saying that, Davoren shoved his gun into the back of Vincent's head,  
then cocked it loudly. Aeris gave a horrified start, nearly crying out  
something.

"I suppose now that I have the chance, I should just finish off this  
tedious business. It'll only take one bullet," the gunman joked, all the  
more amused by her frightened reaction.

Aeris' ordeal only grew worse.

"But instead, we'll compromise and save each other the heartache: if  
you surrender without any fuss or tears, I'll spare Vincent's life. I  
won't release him; the Professor still wants him, but I will not kill  
him."

The proposal frightened the poor girl. She cringed a step back in spite  
of herself.

"You come over here quietly, everything will be nicey-nice. You refuse,  
we'll shed more blood, and it'll only be Vincent's," Davoren warned  
sternly on noticing her hesitation. He pressed the muzzle further into  
Vincent's head, "Trust me, girl. If I shed his blood, it'll be all over  
this park in one long, messy streak."

Vincent angrily scoffed under his breath at this "compromise". Aeris  
could not speak.

"His precious life rests in your hands, my dear," concluded the gunman  
icily, "It's all up to you now. You decide."

A long, stiff silence followed.

All eyes rested on poor, tearful Aeris. The girl stood alone,  
overwhelmed by fear and wretched anguish. She stared so imploringly at  
the gunman. She silently begged for pity, even a tinge of compassion, in  
her distress.

Yet she found nothing save ruthless cruelty in those gleaming pink  
eyes. Davoren gazed back at her with icy sternness, unmoved by her  
pleading look. He had dictated the terms, and would not on any account  
have them otherwise.

He held Vincent upright, the gun stubbornly fixed against the man's  
numb head. His finger twitched on the trigger: that threat had been no  
idle bluff; he would shoot if need be.

Aeris dropped her miserable green eyes to the ground. She still made no  
reply, nor did anyone interrupt her lonely moment of despair. Here she  
stood at the crossroads, which path to choose? Her freedom, or his life?

Trapped in this choking grip, Vincent could only await Aeris' choice in  
anxious anticipation. He found it impossible to breathe. The fit  
mercilessly tore his ravaged chest from one side, this prolonged silence  
from another.

He didn't want to hear her say it. Whatever happened, he did not want  
to hear her say.....

"...if I surrender...you...you won't kill him..?" Aeris asked quietly  
all of a sudden.

On hearing her, a painfully intense emotion seized Vincent by the  
heart. His eyes froze on the girl's face. To contrast, Davoren smiled  
victoriously.

"I won't," he reassured.

"You swear...swear you won't kill him?" insisted the suspicious girl,  
looking him straight in the eye, but herself looking so frightened,  
"You'll just...stop all of this...you won't kill him... if I let you  
take me?"

Davoren's wry smile twisted into an evil grin.

"You have my word of honor as a gentleman. I will not kill him," he  
promised. The malice blazed ever so viciously in his bright eyes.

For one moment, the two dealers gazed intently at each other. Aeris  
stared at the gunman, who kept a firm hold on Vincent while patiently  
awaiting her final consent. The three mercenaries still lingered behind.  
They chuckled under their breath or smacked their lips in delight: the  
victory grew sweeter every minute!

Vincent only stared at her in suppressed silence, as a prisoner  
awaiting his death sentence.

At last, the girl decided.

Crushed to total desperation, Aeris heaved a most pitiful sigh to the  
heavens above, then hung her head. Slowly, she stepped towards the  
gunman. She had surrendered.

The violent emotion swelled further inside of Vincent. He tore his eyes  
away, then bowed his head down in silent resentment. The dangling hair  
strands obscured his face in shadow.

Aeris walked straight to captivity. She crossed the gravel road without  
looking at anyone. Both hands rested on her bosom.

Davoren watched her approach until she stopped only three steps away,  
exactly infront of him. He looked her top to bottom, then let his evil  
pink eyes linger on her tearful but lovely face.

"There now. You're a good girl," he praised, quite pleased with her  
choice. He did not lower his gun or release his victim.

Aeris stood petrified in her spot. Her eyes, a green ocean of sorrow,  
remained lowered. The gunman had her now, trembling, helpless, and  
completely under his control.

Vincent neither spoke nor lifted his head. He was silent.

The victorious Davoren nodded behind towards one of the men, to the one  
with the rather large, muscular build. Instantly, the mercenary marched  
over behind Aeris, and dropped both heavy paws on her shaking shoulders.  
The poor girl only squeezed her eyes shut. She did not resist.

After a long, hard battle, the mission was done. The two had finally  
been captured without a hope of escape.

"I'm touched by your sacrifice, my dear," Davoren admired, his voice  
dripping in venomous mockery, "You've fought so hard to escape the  
Professor. And all this time, you've managed to stay out of his reach."

A bitter sob escaped the hapless girl, but she immediately pressed her  
hands over her mouth to suppress it.

"And yet, she'd return to all of that just for you," marveled  
Davoren amusedly. He jerked the morose Vincent closer,  
"Ah! What a soft-hearted little darling she is to trade herself for your  
life, Mr. Valentine."

No reply; only a contemptuous silence.

The three mercenaries burst into coarse laughter. They praised Lady  
Luck to the skies, and cheered themselves for a victory well-earned  
(even though Davoren had fought the most). Nevertheless, the gunman  
chuckled in with them, far more composed but equally as pleased at the  
outcome. After all, they had won.

Aeris kept her head bowed in total submission amidst this rowdy  
rejoicing. However, on sensing a pair of burning eyes pierce into her,  
she peeked up. She discovered Vincent gazing so fixedly at her face. He  
had lifted his head again.

A most peculiar fire set his deep crimson eyes ablaze. His expression  
was hard and ice-cold, as if chiseled from marble.

He had dived straight back into this desperate battle for her sake. He  
had fought all night long against so many enemies, himself sinking into  
this weak, wasted state. All his strength and concentration had been  
expended to buy her time to escape, even at the risk of his own life.

And after all of that, she still returns? After all that sweat and  
blood, she openly surrenders herself, and right infront of him no less?

Suddenly, the red flame in Vincent's eyes burst into rage.

"...forgive me, Aeris," he apologized coldly, "but....I don't want your  
sacrifice!!"

A demonic power exploded inside of him, far too fast for anyone to even  
expect it. Even Davoren was caught off guard.

Regardless of the gun or this tight captivity, Vincent forcefully  
rammed his whole elbow back into Davoren's stomach. The gunman instantly  
doubled over in sharp pain, stunned by the powerful (and most  
unexpected) blow. Vincent immediately followed up the attack. In one  
violent motion, he swung his full metal claw around, right against the  
side of Davoren's head.

The astonished gunman staggered sideways against the heavy blow. With  
one forceful yank, Vincent tore himself free of the grip, at the same  
time snatching Davoren's gun from his own hand. So swiftly, without  
hesitation, he swung around, and opened fire.

Vincent shot Davoren's head, neck, and heart point blank in one deadly  
sweep. The entire breakout, start to finish, had only lasted an  
unbelievable five seconds.

Vincent did not bother to see Davoren stumble violently backwards then  
crash to the ground, nor would he wait for the thunderstruck mercenaries  
to react. In the blink of an eye, he reached for the astonished Aeris,  
who shrieked on being so roughly yanked forward. At the very same  
instant the girl was snatched, the mercenary behind her was shot twice,  
both times through the skull.

"AARGH!!! YOU DAMN BASTARD!!!" roared one mercenary wildly. The two men  
opened full fire in a mad frenzy.

As quickly as he had pulled her forth, Vincent ruthlessly shoved Aeris  
far away from himself. He instantly dodged the crazy gunfire by rolling  
over to the opposite side. His agility was unreal, as if possessed by  
the maddest demon. Vincent immediately recovered his balance, and  
returned fire before either enemy realized it.

He killed another mercenary on the second shot, but hit the last man's  
arm when suddenly, the gun ran out of bullets. Vincent spat out an angry  
curse: not only had the ammo finished, but his eyesight had  
deteriorated; he had initially aimed for that mercenary's head, not arm.

Vincent instantly reacted without even thinking. Mustering all his  
strength into one final effort, he hurtled the useless weapon straight  
at the screaming, wounded mercenary. The gun spun wildly through the  
air, where it flew like a bullet into the man's face, right against his  
forehead. The violent blow sent the last enemy sprawling onto the ground.  
He tumbled over, then lay face down on the ground. He did not move  
anymore.

It had all happened so quickly.

Aeris, who had huddled down on the ground during this brutal shoot-out,  
lifted her head again. She found four dead bodies scattered around, with  
Vincent the victor of this bloodbath.

Yet he didn't wait a moment to catch his breath, not even to wipe the  
sweat off his face. After killing the last mercenary, Vincent  
immediately dashed towards the girl. Without stopping, he swept Aeris  
off the ground, then slung her over his shoulder. He happened to spot his  
own gun discarded in the way. He snatched it up while running at top  
speed.

Vincent rushed through the park. Black shadows, twisted and horrible,  
zipped by. The roads wound into an endless maze, under arbors or snaking  
around thick undergrowths.

Nevertheless, he kept up the mad pace without thought or heed. Vincent  
dived through the darkest paths possible, trampling straight through  
brittle bushes or staggering over sharp stones. He never slowed down,  
not even a step.

Slung thus over his shoulder, Aeris could hear the fit inside ravage  
his wasted lungs to pieces. On the other hand, Vincent hardly took  
notice of the violent pain. He seemed to derive all his furious strength  
and speed from a demon within. Hard stubbornness, if not sheer anger,  
separated him from unconsciousness. He only saw the escape route, and  
would not be thwarted.

The run lasted an unbearable eternity, down narrow pathways, through a  
labyrinth of forests, until suddenly it all ended. Vincent fled through  
the main gateway straight across the empty street, where he dodged into  
the blackest, dingiest alley he found.

They had escaped the park at last.

End of Chp.43

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	41. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.44

Darkness spread it's horrible wings across the vast sky, proving itself  
still ruler of the night. The pearly moon and a bright sea of diamond  
stars all swirled into this black void. Against such a dark canvas, they  
tried in vain to light the haunted, grim land below.

The city of Midgar remained silently humble under such a majestic  
canopy. Not a light flickered through any window; not a soul stirred  
anywhere. Emptiness re-echoed through the streets. Every shop lingered  
in bleak shadow. Darkness and tranquility, always the best of friends,  
wandered the city hand in hand.

The old bridge just beyond the city centre hung in desolate shadow too,  
even though the glass lanterns on opposite ends fought to light it up. A  
plain, stony structure, it overlooked an open train-tunnel down below.  
The stiff iron tracks ran under this bridge and straight through the  
open tunnel, where they then disappeared underground again. A huge  
signal gantry arched high over the tracks. Black cables and three orange  
lights, all dead, festooned this metal framework. Everything was quiet.

When all his strength had crumbled again, and most of the fury calmed  
once more, Vincent came, or rather staggered to a halt over this bridge.  
He tiredly slipped Aeris off his shoulder, then slumped back against the  
stone parapet.

That frantic rush half-way across the sector had wrecked him. He had  
spent the last fifteen minutes racing like a madman through deserted  
streets, at the same time carrying Aeris, and wrestling his wretched  
illness.

Many times he had nearly stumbled over, or sometimes lunged into alleys  
he did not know, yet rushed on all the same. Finally, when he believed  
they had escaped far enough, he had decided to pause a minute on this  
bridge, if only to catch his breath.

Once Vincent had stopped, the exhaustion crushed him to the point of  
total unconsciousness. His body writhed against the stone parapet. He  
covered his mouth with his trembling hand, desperately hoping to control  
the coughing bout. Fit and fever reveled the delicious flavor of his  
pain. The poor man could not dispel this sickly giddiness from his  
head.

Needless to say, Aeris was by his side in a second. She rubbed his  
heaving chest to ease his breathing, or patted his hot cheeks to keep  
him awake. He couldn't lose conscious; not now, not when they seemed so  
close to safety.

The torture continued a few more minutes.

Dizziness had so entangled his battered senses, Vincent's wobbly legs  
suddenly failed him. The distraught man almost collapsed under his own  
weight, but luckily, Aeris caught his arm in time. She frantically tried  
to steady him again.

Yet much to her shock, Vincent angrily shoved her away, then turned his  
back in cutting resentment. A cold wall of silence immediately sprang up  
between them.

Aeris gaped blankly at him, bewildered to confusion by that hostile  
repulsion: he had pushed her away as if loathing her very touch!

Vincent struggled to regain balance by himself, while poor Aeris  
watched on without a word. He heavily leaned his side against the  
parapet, but still remained aloof to the anxious girl behind him.

Time dragged by. At last, the fit quenched its voracious thirst for  
blood, and slowly receded to a dull pain again. Vincent eagerly smuggled  
a few breaths through his gasps, which soon died away with the  
trembling. His heavy head, bowed down up to now, gradually lifted itself  
up. Sweat poured down his face; blood dripped off his battered arm onto  
the cobble-stone pavement.

The violent storm had passed. Feeling a bit of strength trickle back  
into his sore muscles, Vincent finally steadied himself again. Though he  
stood on both feet now, his claw held onto the parapet for support.  
Indeed, he still felt slightly dizzy from the hellish fever (not to  
mention that bloody fight).

He did not turn around, not even a glance to ease the girl's anxiety.  
The unnatural silence stretched into a long, agonizing minute.

"Why didn't you escape like I told you?"the man asked dryly at last.

Aeris cast her guilty green eyes down. She said nothing.

"Aeris, when I ordered you to run away, why didn't you obey?" he  
repeated sternly.

More hesitation without a reply.

"Answer me!"

"..I..I c-couldn't..," she faltered,startled by his sharp tone.

There was another awkward pause. Both remained silent, one struggling  
against a turmoil of emotions, the other coldly detached.

"Do you want to go back to that laboratory?" Vincent asked bluntly all  
of a sudden.

Aeris started at the strange question, more at the vexed tenseness of  
his cool voice. She fumbled nervously.

"Do you want to go back to the Professor?"

"..n-no...I...."

"Then why did you come back?" he interrupted coldly, the irritation  
suddenly turning to restrained vehemence, "He almost had you, Aeris. He  
was going to return you to the laboratory...right back to the  
Professor."

"..but he..," she protested meekly, "..he promised not to kill you  
if..if I..."

"And you actually trusted his word?!" Vincent retorted aloud. Without  
warning, he swung around, and glared at the frightened girl straight in  
the eye.

Poor Aeris shrunk a step away, torn by grief and shame. She found his  
face unnaturally cold, especially in this bleak shadow: his eyes  
flashed like rubies under knit brows. An ominous scowl darkened his  
haggard face. Vincent towered over the guilty girl, his anger drilling  
right into her shaking heart. In return, Aeris hung her head without a  
word.

"There was no room for compromise..none!" Vincent scolded quite  
severely, "He would have killed me in either case, whether you  
surrendered or not. He'd never spare my life. He wants me dead, and ONLY  
dead!"

Aeris couldn't defend herself against this bitter rebuke, nor would the  
anxious tears stop from flooding her eyes. So many emotions tumbled  
inside of her, yet failed to turn to words.

"I told you to run away," Vincent insisted, "I said I couldn't protect  
you anymore. I left you back there, all that time sure you've escaped.  
But then not only do you return, you give yourself over to him! Why did  
you come back?"

Though his voice was neither loud nor wild, the girl could not bear his  
resentful tone any longer.

"Because I didn't want to see you die!!" she cried as she buried her  
misery into both shaking hands. Aeris turned slightly away, then sobbed  
out, "When...when Davoren said he'd spare your life...I didn't really  
believe him. I saw the lie on his face. But..inside of me, I hoped he'd  
keep his word. I'd have done anything he asked....I..  
I just didn't..."

Rage seethed inside of Vincent as he listened to this woeful outpouring  
of tenderness. Without heed or pity, he cut her short by grabbing her  
arm, the roughly yanked her towards him, where only a few inches of air  
separated their faces. Aeris blinked confusedly back at him, her wild  
distress growing all the more obvious. Her arm trembled non-stop in his  
tight grip.

"You've certainly got nerve, little girl," Vincent murmured in such a  
low, cold voice as he studied her face, "You spend your nights crying in  
bed about how much you never want to go back...how badly you want to  
feel safe. And then, when you get the chance, you rush straight back to  
get captured."

"I DON'T CARE!!!!" she angrily screamed back.

A surprised silence followed.

She stood in his tight grip, breathless with her own passionate  
outburst. Vincent withdrew his face an inch away, then silently watched  
her fight a futile battle against tears. In truth, the violence in her  
voice had somewhat surprised him.

"..y-you had no right to push me away like that..," Aeris reproached  
him bitterly, feeling the misery pour from her bosom,  
"..back there in the forest..you had no right to shout in my face, and  
tell me to leave, when you knew I wanted to stay."

Vincent only loosened his grip on her arm as a response.

Aeris swallowed a heartful of sobs before continuing in a soft,  
quivering voice, "I..tried to run away like you ordered me..I really  
did.... but there were all these gunshots in the air..they were all so  
loud. And..and all I could see was Davoren murdering you...ripping you  
to pieces, with those horrible pink eyes of his just laughing at you.."

The vivid picture redoubled her wretched ordeal. Aeris suddenly looked  
up at the man, her whole face contorted with pain.

"That's all I saw...and I couldn't run anymore!!" She cried in anguish,  
"You were asking too much of me, Vincent! I had to come back!!"

Vincent said nothing. His expression was perfectly stoic, betraying not  
a twinge of emotion. However, his thoughtful eyes dwelled very keenly on  
the girl's miserable face.

"I don't want to go back to the Professor....I never want to go back  
there ever again," Aeris whimpered to herself softly, "But Vincent, I'd  
rather go back there than lose you.......you mean much more to me  
than...than anything else I...."

He did not let her finish. Vincent gently drew her closer, and embraced  
her all to himself. Aeris buried her face into his chest without any  
resistance. She immediately dissolved into hot tears.

Both Vincent's arm and claw pressed her dearly, with his head bowed  
down against her shaking shoulder. The more distraught she became, the  
more protectively he hugged her, until he could feel her pitiful heart  
pound against his. He even began to cradle her in hopes of soothing her  
tearful agitation.

"Shh...it doesn't matter anymore, Aeris," he whispered as he stroked  
her hair, "It doesn't matter. He's dead. he's dead."

Yes, Davoren was dead. It meant she could rest a bit easier now,  
knowing no white-haired monster would ever hunt her down again. It  
meant, at least for now, no one would try to drag her away. Davoren was  
dead, himself alive, and the girl here and safe.

Yet at the same time, some vague, troublesome feeling pestered Vincent  
as he beheld Aeris weep in his arms. His fingers paused midway through  
her hair; his eyes became engrossed in some obscure, gloomy  
contemplation. However, he soon shoved this ominous thought far away  
from his weary mind. They were safe now; nothing else mattered.

Though surrounded all around by ghostly darkness and death-like  
silence, the two lingered a long time on this lonely bridge. At last,  
when Aeris had calmed down again, Vincent slowly released her. The  
mollified girl rubbed her tearful, downcast eyes with many soft  
sniffles. She was exhausted, but nevertheless soothed after her cry.

Vincent checked her another moment just to make sure she was alright,  
then tiredly slumped sideways against the parapet again. He too felt  
wretchedly drained and tired.

"Let's go home," he suggested gently.

Aeris glanced up at him, then smiled in consent. She helped steady  
Vincent back onto his feet, who now found it painfully impossible to  
walk without her support. When ready, they turned around to finish the  
long journey homeward.

No sooner had they turned than they both froze solid, as if struck by  
lightning.

No words could describe Vincent's blank shock or Aeris' dumbfounded  
horror. there they stood rooted to the spot, gaping back at a vicious  
pair of pink eyes.

Not an illusion, not a ghost. Davoren stood at the very head of the  
bridge, only a short distance infront of them.

-End of Chp.44

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	42. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.45

Davoren was alive.

The gunman's face, though dirtied and quite pale, expressed cool  
composure. To contrast, his eyes glared like a wild pink fire. His black  
trench coat and suit were torn, especially at the bottom. His  
silvery-grey gun, the same Vincent had "borrowed" then flung away, now  
hung tightly by his side.

There were absolutely no marks where Vincent had shot him, not even the  
smallest scratch.

The heavy silence endured for a long, awkward minute.

Vincent's mind raced to find some explanation to this impossible sight,  
all the while gaping incredulously at the gunman: he could not guess  
when Davoren had crept here, more importantly, how he could have  
survived. He knew he had shot this man. The range had been too close  
for him to miss, even with his blurry eyesight. Then how could Davoren  
possibly...

"..I...I shot you," Vincent whispered hoarsely to the gunman.

Davoren lifted one eyebrow quizzically.

"I shot you!" Vincent choked out, as if doubting his own words, "I shot  
your head, neck, and heart! I didn't...I couldn't have missed!"

A wry smile slowly twisted Davoren's lips, making him appear all the  
more sinister in the bleak shadow.

"No, you didn't miss," he affirmed calmly.

He took one step forward, at the same time jamming a cartridge of  
bullets into his empty gun. However, he did not lift the weapon, but  
instead gazed so menacingly at the stunned pair.

Vincent became aware of Aeris' body shaking behind him. Indeed, the  
poor girl had hid again, desperately clinging to his stiff arm. Wild  
terror marked her whole face. It seemed death itself could not thwart  
this monster's dogged pursuit.

"You got me all three times. But y'know, Professor Hojo played around  
with my body too," sneered Davoren, "Don't think you're the only one  
here with the abnormalities."

The move was swift and totally unexpected. With such carefree  
simplicity, Davoren pressed the loaded weapon into the side of his own  
head. Before either Vincent or Aeris realized it, the insane man pulled  
the trigger.

The loud shot rang out through the still air, shattering the silence to  
pieces. Slowly, it faded away into the night until all was deathly calm  
again.

Vincent could only gape in mute shock. Aeris remained huddled behind  
him, her green eyes wide with horror.

Davoren still stood before them, his head slightly tilted sideways, but  
otherwise unharmed. At his feet lay the fired bullet.

It had literally bounced off his head.

"Infinite resistance to physical injury, high tolerance to pain,  
that's my little secret," the gunman scoffed at last, "I can raise my  
level up whenever I want....sorta like a shield. That's how I survived  
when you dropped the wall on me, and the explosion, and the gunshots. I  
just raised my level up in time."

It took Vincent a full moment to actually grasp this man's words. Aeris  
now realized what Davoren had meant when he described his skin as  
"really, really, really tough". He hadn't been joking at all.

Davoren pushed back his snow-white hair in one sweep, then added rather  
haughtily, "See my abnormalities are better than yours, Mr. Valentine. Oh  
sure, you're far more agile and sharp than me. And you got all the raw  
power hidden inside. But of course, we both know once you tap into that  
power, it explodes. You automatically lose control of yourself....you'd  
probably end up destroying everything in your path...even those you're  
trying so hard to protect."

At here, Davoren glanced briefly at Aeris, then smirked, "The risk is  
too high for you, so you avoid it all together. I, on the other hand,  
can control mine so easily. No fuss, no claws or ugly wings. Just one  
thought, and hoop! Invulnerability!"

Vincent made no comment to the vicious mockery.

"Now, I know what you're thinking!" laughed Davoren, as if telling a  
funny joke, "You're thinking 'Well, if he's so damn resistant, why'd he  
bother going through all those nasty tactics and underhanded schemes,  
when he could have just fought straight out from the beginning', right?"

No one answered.

"Ah! But see, I can only maintain my level up for a short time....  
fifteen minutes max, then it starts to crumble down again. And I know  
from out last encounter, Mr. Valentine, killing you would take much more  
than fifteen minutes. So, you'd understand why I wouldn't want to just  
waste it all away in one go. I save it...only use it when I absolutely  
must. The only person who can kill me outright is the Professor. Now do  
you understand?"

Vincent understood. Those petty small victories had meant nothing to  
the final outcome. All the odds had been in Davoren's favor from the  
very beginning.

They had fought hard throughout the entire night, Davoren simply  
raising his level whenever necessary. True, Vincent had taken him  
hostage for a brief time. Yet that he attributed to sheer luck; he had  
probably attacked Davoren just when his "shield" crumbled. And in all  
likelihood, the gunman had only succumbed to interrogation to buy  
himself time: either to rebuild his fallen level or until the coughing  
fit would aid him (or maybe just to satisfy his sick sense of humor).

In any case, the cunning man left no hope for escape. He had shoved  
Vincent into the tightest corner: the mercenaries had wearied him; the  
battle had ruined him; the Professor had wrecked him with fits; Aeris  
had worried him to near distraction; and of course, when no more  
strength remained, Davoren would simply finish the rest.

Cruel fate had decided against him.

Drowned by such overwhelming misfortune, Vincent only glared hatefully  
at the triumphant gunman. He huddled Aeris further behind him: whatever  
be the consequences, he would not surrender.

The cold air hung in haunted stillness.

Davoren suddenly diverted his attention over to the frightened girl,  
who cringed away on meeting his hard gaze. He grinned at her through the  
shadow, his pink eyes savoring her delicious fear.

"Well my dear, we've just about had enough of this running around, "the  
gunman noted maliciously, "Now, what say we end it all, and I take you  
back, hm?"

Vincent instantly anticipated the next move.

In the blink of an eye, Davoren lunged at the two, straight for the  
terrified Aeris. He charged like a mad demon, eyes fiercely set on his  
target: he would not fail this time.

Vincent barely reacted in time. Snatching the frantic girl by the  
waist, he instantly flipped sideways onto the stone parapet, then leapt  
high over the gunman's head. With luck, maybe he could pass overhead  
then dash away, at least before the assailant could turn around.

Yet much to his alarm, Davoren ruthlessly cut off this escape route.  
Without heed of hesitation, the terrible man hopped onto the parapet  
too, then sprang high up into the air, right into the astonished  
Vincent.

Vincent did not understand until a savage pain suddenly tore clean  
through his stomach. the blow, swift yet quite powerful, cut his breath  
short. All sensation of his surroundings shattered to numbness.

Indeed, it had happened only in a moment, while still suspended in air.  
Davoren, on leaping up, had rammed his entire knee straight into  
Vincent's stomach.

Though Aeris saw everything, her mind couldn't grasp the meaning at  
all. She saw Vincent's red eyes constrict in violent pain. She even felt  
his arm tense around her waist. Everything then swirled around in total  
chaos. They both seemed to be plunging down, down to a black abyss.

Yet suddenly, Aeris felt a rough force tear her away. She saw Vincent  
crash shoulder first into the ground, while she just stopped without the  
slightest injury. In fact, her whole body hung suspended above the  
ground.

Bewildered by the enigma, Aeris blankly watched poor Vincent tumbled  
over a few times across the tracks before rolling to an abrupt halt. The  
man curled up on his injured side, trying in vain to suppress the wild  
agony. He lay only a short distance away from her.

Strange. Hadn't she been with Vincent just moments ago? Hadn't both of  
them plunged down? Then how had she...

Aeris at last noticed herself trapped in between arms that felt so  
unfamiliar. On looking up, she found Davoren's face, only a few inches  
away, smiling so pleasantly down at her.

The horrible shock struck her speechless.

That brutal blow had sent both Aeris and Vincent flying clear over the  
stone bridge, down towards the train tracks below. However, Davoren had  
snatched the girl away moments before impact. So while Vincent crashed  
onto the iron rails, the gunman had landed gracefully on both feet, with  
Aeris safe in his arms.

Davoren had remained squatted down after landing. He gazed quite  
kindly, almost lovingly, down at the girl, who in return blinked back in  
total confusion. He held her very closely against himself, one arm  
wrapped around her back, the other around her two slender legs.

Aeris felt paralyzed, her body so weak in his strong grip. In truth,  
she had never seen Davoren's face this close.

He had captured her. That meant a return to the torture and  
never-ending pain; her body trembling on a cold dissection table, with  
invisible hands fumbling at her from every side. No safety in the night,  
no light in the dark maze. He had captured her.

Unable to speak, Aeris turned her head over to Vincent's direction  
again. A terrible trembling bout seized her.

Though fully aware of the desperate situation, Vincent found himself  
crushed by weakness. Savage pain tore him inside out as he lay  
helplessly sprawled on the iron tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut. His  
hand clutched his battered stomach. With each grunt, Vincent gnashed his  
teeth then writhed over in further agony. He could taste bitter hot  
blood in his mouth. Total unconsciousness fingered his weary mind.

He thought he heard Aeris scream out his name. If she did, her voice  
had sounded far too muffled.

It took Vincent a long time to finally force his eyes open. Blurry  
shadows and grey shapes danced before him. He felt nauseated beyond  
endurance.

He easily sensed those vicious pink eyes glaring so vindictively at  
him. He also felt the wild turmoil storming inside of poor Aeris.

Davoren had torn her from his arms. Yet there remained the grand finale  
to this long, bloody fight. Vincent knew only too well what it would be:  
his death.

He waited another moment before deciding to move again. Mustering all  
his feeble strength one last time, Vincent weakly lifted his head up,  
rolled onto his stomach, then struggled to his knees. Only through a  
miracle did he manage to stagger back up to his feet.

He now stood slouched up in his spot for both Davoren and Aeris to  
behold. His hand dropped off his stomach. Soft gasps, whispers of a  
hectic fever, escaped his tight chest.

Vincent stared straight at the gunman, crimson eyes darkened to cold,  
unforgiving hatred. His clothes were soaked and tattered. Dirt,  
scratches, and blood spatters marked his pale face, with loose hair  
strands hanging all around. Yet Vincent's face maintained an unnaturally  
calm, stoic expression.

Davoren only erected himself up from his squatted position. He slipped  
one arm just under Aeris' bosom, then released her legs, so that she now  
dangled helplessly by his side.

His strong arm squeezed the poor girl to tears, drawing her so close to  
himself, almost into his open trench coat. His height seemed all the  
more impressive now; Aeris' two feet hung at least five inches from the  
ground.

The two men remained silent for a rather long time.

The empty train tracks stretched to infinity through this open tunnel.  
The concrete walls rose high up on both sides, while a narrow steel  
platform for electricity cables ran along the side. Sooty pebbles and  
dirty snow covered the black ground. The signal gantry, on the other  
hand, towered high above. Dismal shadow infested the place.

The stillness lasted another minute.

"Well, what now, Vincent?" mocked Davoren at last. His cool, clear  
voice so nearby startled the poor girl.

Vincent, however, made no reply.

"Heh heh...aren't you going to save your precious little girl? What,  
are you finally giving up?"

The playful words only received a cutting silence. Vincent's expression  
remained stone-hard, his brilliant gaze fixed on this brutal man.

Yet far from irritation, Davoren grew all the more amused, especially  
by this bitter resentment. He suddenly yanked up the horrified Aeris  
closer, then bent his head down just by her lovely, frightened face.  
Their cheeks touched.

She swallowed a violent sob as she felt his gentle breath tickle her  
neck.

"You've fought so hard, killed so many, and wasted yourself away to  
this sorry state," hissed Davoren, peering so vehemently at the man,  
"...all to protect her...all to keep her safe from the Professor."

No reply.

"And yet don't you know, Vincent, the Professor won't stop until he has  
her in his claws...shaking and at his total mercy. That's what she is to  
him....his darling little specimen."

Still keeping his malicious eyes locked on Vincent, Davoren slowly  
kissed Aeris' cheek. Her whole body shivered at the loathsome touch; his  
lips felt icy cold against her skin.

"Hmm....soft as peach and twice as sweet," the terrible gunman breathed  
playfully into her ear.

Aeris could not endure this torture any longer. Hot tears began to  
tumble down her cheeks. In her wild anguish, she stared straight at  
Vincent.

Yet he never once dropped his eyes off Davoren, even as he witnessed  
the girl's kiss of doom. He remained rooted to the spot, leaden by  
exhaustion and illness.

The bitter cold air grew heavy under this long silence. The darkness  
seemed to grow thicker each second.

"I know...you have me right where you want me, Davoren," admitted  
Vincent with marked coolness, bowing his head slightly, "You've cut me  
off from every possible direction...I can't fight anymore...I can  
barely..stay conscious. I know any moment now, you'll kill me...splatter  
my blood, and drag my dead carcass away."

Davoren did not interrupt.

Vincent gently drew in a breath of air, then added more tiredly,  
"...you'll take Aeris back to Professor Hojo. She'll be tortured for  
some 'experiment'...and she'll never escape again. She'll be locked in  
that nightmare forever."

Poor Aeris stared in horror at the prediction. The gunman still said  
nothing.

"But mark my words, Davoren, I won't let him, or you, or anyone else  
have her," vowed Vincent, his calm voice suddenly seething to bitter  
hostility. His fiery eyes pierced into Davoren, "Kill me and take her if  
you will, but I will never let anyone torture her again. If I have to  
crawl back through the very Gates of Hell, I won't let it happen!"

Another heavy silence followed.

Vincent could say no more. The fervent vow had exhausted him, every  
word an agony to push out. Yet he still glared fixedly at no one except  
the gunman. He now awaited whatever may come next.

At last came the final verdict. Davoren mocked those brave words with a  
most cunning sneer. The grin stretched across his face as his terrible  
pink eyes narrowed in delight. Not even the devil himself could have  
matched his evil appearance.

Davoren yanked out his gun, then stretched his arm fully out, with the  
deadly weapon aimed straight at Vincent.

Aeris gave a violent start on spotting the gun thus outstretched beside  
her. Vincent, however, faced it without flinching a muscle.

"Now let's see....where to shoot...where to shoot..," mused Davoren  
aloud, unable to conceal his amusement, "I suppose the head would be  
appropriate. An eye for an eye, and a brain for a brain, eh?"

No answer. Aeris continuously darted her horrified eyes between the  
weapon and Vincent. Her hands trembled like mad.

"..but then again, you'd die too soon, and I promised you a painful  
death. Hmm...so Vincent, I guess I'll just shoot your heart, and watch  
the life pour out of you...nice and slow!"

Davoren instantly reached for the trigger.

"NO!!!!!!!" shrieked Aeris.

Much to Davoren's great astonishment, the frantic girl kicked his  
forearm up with her knee, just as the loud bullet rang out.

In an instant, Vincent felt a violent pain suddenly rip straight into  
his left shoulder, sending him sprawling backwards. He saw a wild  
fountain of dark red liquid gush out into the air. It was his own blood.

The bullet had missed his heart, and hit his shoulder instead.

He crashed onto the iron rails again, then began writhing weakly on his  
side, all the while clutching his wounded shoulder. Hot blood soaked his  
entire hand immediately. The savage pain drilled through his flesh into  
the very bone.

"AAH!!!! V-VINCENT!!!!!!!" screamed Aeris in tearful hysterics. She  
struggled wildly for freedom, tugging at her captor's unrelinquishing  
arm.

"Goddamn it!!" snarled Davoren at this unexpected interference.

Indeed, Davoren had had enough. He dropped the frantic Aeris, where on  
snagging her collar, ruthlessly struck the butt of his hard gun clean  
across her head. Without looking at her, he flung her far away behind  
him, then marched over to Vincent: the tedious business must be  
concluded tonight.

Poor Aeris crashed heavily onto her side, where she lay sprawled  
against the train tracks, unable to lift her head from the dirty ground.  
The blow had stunned her to painful numbness.

She saw the gunman advance quickly towards Vincent, who still writhed  
in pitiful agony. She saw the deadly gun in his hand, thirsting for more  
blood. She wanted to warn Vincent, to stop this madness, yet could not  
even squeeze out the softest whisper.

Soon, Davoren stopped at his fallen victim. Vincent had curled weakly  
onto his side, gritting his teeth while his hand fought the profuse  
outflow of blood. Already, consciousness began slipping into darkness.

The callous gunman eyed Vincent for a brief moment, then rolled him  
flat onto his back with one kick. Reveling this tasty cruelty further,  
Davoren forcefully drove his heavy foot against the man's shoulder,  
right into the bullet wound.

Vincent twisted violently in wild pain, yet somehow stifled his scream  
down to a hideous, sharp grunt.

"What's wrong, Vincent? No more revolvers up your sleeve?" scoffed  
Davoren sarcastically.

Vincent could not distinguish between his voice and all the other mad  
chaos. They both buzzed into his numb ears at once.

He now lay spread out over the train tracks, battered beyond hope. No  
life remained save a feeble breath.

Without another word, Davoren aimed his gun at Vincent's head: no  
misses this time.

From her place far behind, Aeris had witnessed this horrifying scene  
until wild despair overpowered her. She shifted her body around, somehow  
pushed herself onto all fours, and feebly crawled her way towards the  
two men. The pitiful girl only managed three inches before collapsing  
again. Yet she persisted by literally dragging her heavy body across the  
tracks.

She did not know what she could possibly do, nor did she care. In her  
mad anguish, she only saw Vincent.

A very, very faint rumbling, like that of thunder, seemed to fill the  
still air. Aeris paused a moment: she thought she had felt the ground  
shake. Yet so distraught and confused, she could make no sense of these  
mysterious signs.

The sadistic gunman, on the other hand, found this victory far too  
delightful to notice Aeris or anything else. Like his deadly gun, all  
his attention remained fixed down on Vincent.

Vincent never moved a muscle. Instead, he wearily forced one bloodshot  
eye half-open. His blurry eyesight lingered a moment on the black muzzle  
of the gun, then on Davoren's cold face.

Both eyes locked onto each other. One glowed in crimson brilliance,  
like fresh blood set on fire. The other pair shone in no less  
brilliance, as pink as sparkling jewels. Neither man spoke.

Aeris still struggled in vain to pull her lifeless limbs forward, if  
only to stop this hellish nightmare. The rumbling seemed to grow louder.  
Small pebbles on the ground began to vibrate lightly.

The moment came at last: Davoren reached for the trigger again.

She opened her mouth to scream, when instead a thunderous, booming  
clamor interrupted the execution. Davoren shot his head back towards  
the source in alarm; Vincent forced his eye to the far side.

The whole ground shook as a loud surge of rumbling drowned the air.  
Darkness was obliterated. On looking behind, Aeris felt a brilliant  
white light blind her eyes. All the chaos seemed to race towards her.

A train suddenly burst through the black tunnel at top speed. It shot  
forth like a mad bullet, devouring the iron tracks as it headed straight  
for the three, firstly Aeris.

Davoren instantly reacted. Forgetting everything else including  
Vincent, he made a headlong dash for the petrified girl. He lunged into  
the blinding light, where on sweeping Aeris off her feet, immediately  
sprang high up into the air, just as the wild train zoomed underneath.  
He had saved her in time.

Still sprawled flat on the ground, Vincent felt the brilliant light  
plunge him into painful blindness. The insane rumbling deafened his  
ears. His bleary eyes saw the sharp wheels tearing straight for him.

And that was all he saw.

The heedless train flew down the iron tracks, stretching its full  
length down the open tunnel. Anything in its way was destroyed.

On leaping up, Davoren had grabbed hold of the signal gantry arched  
high overhead. He had gracefully flipped on top of the broad crossbar,  
and there remained crouched down, with Aeris safely tucked under his  
armpit.

They both watched the speedy train rush by, the gunman in silent  
irritation, the poor girl in mute shock.

A wild gust of wind blew against the two as this madness whizzed  
underneath. The hem of Davoren's torn trench coat flapped wildly in the  
air. His white hair swayed infront of his face. He gripped the girl very  
closely to himself, while the other hand held onto the bar for balance.

Aeris saw nothing save the loud, mad chaos. Though now clinging to  
Davoren's coat, she gaped in stupefied horror as the train rushed on  
below. It zoomed at such an insane speed, one car after another, until  
she could no longer tell them apart.

The torment lasted an eternity. The clamor suffocated her to tearful  
madness. There seemed no end to this long metal snake, the wild lights,  
or these booming noises. They only intensified the turmoil in her mind.

At long, long last, it ended. The train zipped away under the stone  
bridge, sweeping all its chaos into a dying echo. Soon, shadow and  
silence returned.

Aeris' frantic eyes searched the tracks up and down, yet found no trace  
of Vincent. There was the spot where he had lain, even the small pool of  
blood from his wound, but nothing more. He had disappeared.

The train must have swept him away, shredding his body under their  
cruel wheels, savoring the flavor of his torn flesh. Davoren had  
emerged the final victor, she his prisoner, and he dead.

"...no...V...Vincent...," Aeris whispered, pitifully reaching her hand  
out towards the empty tracks.

Only silence answered. He was not there.

A violent pain swelled inside until her whole heart burst.

"VINCENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Aeris heard herself scream through the mad turmoil, then suddenly,  
everything went black.

-End of Chp.45

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	43. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.46

The black haziness gradually dispersed from Vincent's eyes, leaving him  
in a whirl of confused blurriness. A dull pain teased his dizzy senses.  
He felt cold, numb, and so weak.

He wondered where he was.

Vincent found himself lying flat on his stomach, sprawled weakly over  
an uncomfortable bed of soot and sharp stones. Most of his face was  
buried deep into the ground, so that the pungent smell of burnt ash  
filled his nostrils. Exhaustion pinned him down under its heavy hand.

Without moving his head, he strained one eye around to inspect these  
unfamiliar surroundings.

It seemed he had somehow fallen into some ditch or gutter below  
ground level. Hard concrete walls squeezed this filthy place to a long,  
narrow tunnel. Sewer pipes intermingled with stiff cable lines, all  
fitted into the rough stonework. Soot, stones, and crushed coal  
blanketed the entire ground.

Darkness in all its cruelty suffocated this empty ditch to bleak  
shadow. However, there seemed to be an upper opening along one side of  
the wall, thus smuggling some moonlight inside. Most probably, Vincent  
had fallen into this gutter through that opening.

Yet from where had he fallen? Try as hard as he may, he could not  
remember, not even wager a guess.

Vincent at last tried to move. First, he twitched his stiff fingers,  
then painfully drew up his hand. With one soft grunt, he struggled to  
get up, at least lift his heavy head, yet soon collapsed back down  
again. Twice the poor man tried, each time sheer weakness foiled his  
pathetic attempts.

Finally, after much sweat and effort, Vincent managed to push himself  
up to one elbow, then miraculously onto all fours.

Though quite trivial, such a laborious task had exhausted him well  
beyond endurance. He paused a moment to snatch a whiff of air. Vincent's  
head bent down sharply, where his long black hair dangled against the  
ground. His arms trembled under his heavy weight. A horrible sickness  
choked him again.

He suddenly felt a mad surge of pain burble from his chest up through  
his parched throat. Vincent hardly fought the nausea. He instantly  
twisted his head aside, and squeezing both eyes tight, heaved out all  
the vomit and rotten blood in one giant effort. He could not help but  
grimace at the disgusting, sour hot after-taste in his mouth.

Fortunately however, the whole ordeal soon passed. Vincent huddled  
weakly against the cold wall, gasping and groping for his muddled  
senses. That "unpleasant release" has actually removed some of the  
sickly dizziness and stinging pain. At least he knew he wouldn't faint  
again.

He waited in this darkness for a few more minutes.

When he felt meager life revive his lifeless limbs, Vincent decided to  
move again. He wiped his mouth against his torn sleeve, then staggered  
up to his wobbly feet, all the while supporting himself against the  
wall. He glanced once more around this dark, dingy tunnel-way, yet still  
could not recall what had happened.

Rather than fight his befuddled memories, Vincent feebly climbed up the  
pipe lines towards that opening in the upper wall. He slipped through,  
and slowly crawled his way under some low, steel platform. When he at  
last emerged into the open, he found himself back on the main train  
tracks.

He looked around in tired amazement: there stood the signal gantry,  
haughtily posed high above all else. The stone bridge hung in its same  
dismal loneliness. The iron rails extended all the way back into the  
yawning tunnel, just as always. Emptiness re-echoed in the air. No one  
was here.

Vincent climbed up to his feet again, then leaned sideways against the  
wall, gasping so softly to himself. Slow memory floated back: he  
recalled the brilliant light blind his eyes; the wild rumbling hammer  
his ears. He then vaguely remembered making one final effort to move.  
Indeed, he must have rolled himself off the tracks just as the train had  
passed.

Vincent passively inspected the electricity platform again: he guessed  
he must have rolled all the way under this steel structure and into that  
underground ditch, where he instantly lost conscious. No one would have  
suspected such a gutter to even exist. It lay completely hidden under  
the platform, well concealed by darkness and other pipe lines.

So if Davoren had peeked under the platform, he wouldn't have guessed  
any such underground tunnel-way to be there.

Suddenly, Vincent remembered Aeris. His anxious eyes searched the  
entire place again. They ran from one end of the tracks to the other, up  
the signal gantry, and under the bridge: nothing. No girl;  
no gunman.

Davoren had taken her back.

He cast one last wistful glance all around. When sure he would not find  
Aeris here, Vincent tiredly shifted himself around, then staggered his  
way along the tunnel wall. Soon, he discovered a ladder. Its russet  
rungs being built into the concrete, this stiff ladder led straight up  
to the main street above. Thus began the slow, painful journey upwards.

It took him a long time to reach the top. Wearied by the tedious climb,  
Vincent heavily tumbled over the parapet, then crashed his back onto the  
pavement with a sharp grunt. After another miserable struggle, Vincent  
managed to sit up. He slumped back against the wall, both legs drawn up  
and head bent low.

He looked the truest picture of despair in his gloomy, forlorn  
loneliness. Vincent expelled a stiff sigh, then tiredly pressed his  
fingers against his closed eyes. He did not lift his head.

Davoren had taken her back.

The long, bloody war had stretched far into the night, one hard battle  
after another, yet what had he to show for it? The one person he had  
fought so hard to protect had fallen prisoner again. For all his brave  
efforts, not one had matched Davoren's cleverness; not one had saved  
Aeris from that brutal deathtrap.

So now, when the victory had been claimed and the dust had settled,  
what remained? Here he sat, alone, completely crushed, and the girl  
forever gone. the Professor had swallowed her again, back to that  
nightmare she dreaded to tears.

Indeed, wasn't it only yesterday Aeris had been weeping in his bed,  
wishing for herself total safety? Just yesterday Vincent had embraced  
her away from those terrible fears, and lulled her to sweet sleep.

Yes, though it seemed ages ago, it was only yesterday.

Then tonight, she is dragged back to her dark dungeon of torture and  
pain. Against all pitiful pleas and struggles, her simple wish is  
cruelly dashed aside. For what?

An "experiment".

Vincent scowled coldly on recalling Aeris' miserable, tear-stained  
face; her frightened expression as the gunman had tormented her in his  
tight grip. The words "Davoren has taken her back" churned about his  
head until he could almost hear the gunman's mocking voice whisper them  
into his ears.

Yes, in the end, Davoren had taken her back.

Hot rage swelled inside Vincent's heart. He angrily released it all by  
slamming his clenched iron fist straight into the stone pavement. Yet he  
suddenly writhed aside on feeling a sharp pain gnaw through his left  
shoulder. The bullet wound would no longer be ignored.

With a soft curse, Vincent attended to this injury. He tore off his  
tattered overcoat, unbuttoned his uniform-like shirt, and roughly pulled  
down the left side. He examined the wound for a moment.

The deadly bullet had hit him clean into the main muscle. Dark blood  
seeped slowly out of the black, swollen hole. It smeared his pale skin  
in sickly redness, and soaked through his black undershirt.

At least he could rejoice in one fact: being "abnormal" also meant he  
could endure wounds and blood loss far better than ordinary humans.

Vincent turned his immediate attention to dressing this injury. He  
tore off a long, broad strip from the inner hem of his coat, then  
stiffly stretched out his other arm. He began to wrap the cloth around  
the wound, using his mouth in the painful procedure. When he had  
finished, Vincent buttoned up his shirt, and fumbled his torn coat back  
on.

That should keep the pain down to a tolerable level, at least until he  
found a way to get himself proper treatment.

Vincent slumped back against the wall again. Fever, exhaustion, but  
mostly weary despair weighed on his soul like a heavy rock. He cast his  
hallow eyes down to the pavement, where his gaze strayed far into  
thoughtfulness.

A deathly silence hung in the chilly air. Vincent sat alone in his  
dismal place, stoic outside, yet brooding so intently inside.

What to do now? He knew not where Davoren had taken her. He guessed he  
had lost conscious for at least an hour, so following the cold trail now  
would be quite impossible. Then what? Without an idea of her  
whereabouts, how could he possibly find her again?

Suddenly, an idea struck Vincent: he recalled killing all the  
mercenaries except one. After shooting that man's arm, he had hurtled  
the empty gun straight into his face. Hopefully, neither the blow nor  
the wound had killed him. So perhaps, this mercenary could be of some  
use after all.

Vincent snatched this last hope immediately. He staggered up to his  
weary feet again, and limped his way back to the park.

-End of Chp.46

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	44. I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields ch...

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.47

A ghostly silence haunted the eerie battlefield. It floated through the  
darkness, brushing past frozen tree branches or rolling over the brittle  
undergrowths. The bullet-ridden trees mourned the cruel disfigurement of  
their beautiful trunks. The cold corpses lay wherever they had fallen,  
life having parted the flesh long, long ago. Nothing moved; night  
oppressed all.

At last, the sole survivor of the bloodbath stirred. The mercenary  
slowly re-opened his bleary eyes. He found himself lying face down in  
the frozen stone ground, his arm twisted by his side.

No sooner did he attempt to move than a fierce pain tore at his  
bloody arm. Instantly, a thousand curses and angry oaths exploded  
against the wound. The man writhed around onto his back as he groped  
this battered limb. His eyes happened to glance up.

He froze solid on finally noticing a tall, black figure towering over  
him, with a keen pair of ruby-red eyes set fixedly on his face.

The wounded man stared back a moment in blank shock, still dizzy and  
quite confused. However, frantic fear instantly seized him when he  
recognized Vincent ("the freak with the claw"). The man feebly edged  
away by beating his two feet back, yet the effort crumbled to a painful  
grunt. Obviously, it hurt him to even move. So, he curled up on his side  
in quiet, nervous anticipation.

In return, Vincent gazed down at the frightened man in ominous silence.  
His face, haggard and filthy, bore an incredibly stoic expression. Not a  
twinge of emotion marked his calm face, not even the mildest  
displeasure.

On returning to the park, Vincent had found the wanted mercenary  
sprawled unconsciously along the side of the gravel road. His less  
fortunate comrades, the two other mercenaries, lay dead some distance  
away.

Soon, the wounded man had begun to wake up, whereby Vincent decided to  
start the interrogation. Therefore, he had stood patiently over the  
mercenary until at last noticed.

For a long time, neither man spoke.

Vincent coolly looked over the cowering mercenary: the man appeared  
around his mid-thirties. A hideous scar ran clear across the bridge of  
his crooked nose. He had light flaxen hair closely shorn, and wore one  
bandoleer across his broad chest. A thick trail of blood streamed down  
his dirty face, marking where the gun had struck.

The mercenary curled further under such cold inspection. He peeked up  
at Vincent from the corner of his eye, clutching his wounded arm in a  
protective grip. He dared not open his mouth.

Vincent deliberately drew out his black gun, and aimed it straight at  
the hapless mercenary. The man stared wide-eyed at the muzzle. Sweat  
broke out.

"Where has he taken her?" demanded Vincent in a cool, toneless voice.

The mercenary blinked in total confusion, as though he hadn't  
understood the simple question. He tried to grunt out some muddled  
reply.

"Where has he taken her?" Vincent repeated.

"I..I don't k-know..," fumbled out the frightened man at last.

Vincent only narrowed his cold eyes at the unsatisfactory answer. The  
gun remained fixed on its deadly mark.

"..I..I don't know nothing, man! I don't!!" insisted the frantic  
mercenary again, "If y'mean where Davoren took that little girl, I swear  
I don't know!!"

"You're lying."

"Like shit, I am!! I ain't lying!! I don't know nothing!!"

Vincent did not reply, but instead listened stoically to the incensed  
mercenary rant over the same claim. The man grew increasingly violent as  
he struggled to sit up. His thick brows knit through the sweat. Hatred  
raged in his fearful expression.

"I tell ya, you freak-assed bastard! I know nothing! Nothing!!" he spat  
in hot scorn, "I know nothing!! Not about Davoren, that girly, or..."

Suddenly, a loud gunshot turned the man's angry insistence to a shrill  
scream of agony. He crashed back against the ground, howling like a  
madman while clutching his thigh. Dark blood spurted through his  
fingers; the bullet had hit quite deep.

Rather than argue, Vincent had simply shot the man's thigh point blank.

At least three whole minutes passed before the mercenary managed to  
reduce his wild screams to angry groans. He lay slouched on his side,  
one leg drawn up while his weak hands blocked the blood flow. Both eyes  
were squeezed shut.

"Where has he taken her?" reiterated Vincent in the same flat tone.

"..argh...Goddamn shit...I.. ugh..," spluttered the wounded man. He  
grit his teeth, then writhed flat onto his back with another curse.

Vincent waited another moment. When his question passed by unanswered  
again, he aimed the gun at the man's other thigh. Luckily, the mercenary  
acted just in time.

"Alright!! Alright!! Shit!!!" he screamed, waving one hand out to  
signal his surrender. Pain and terror shook his body. He was breathing  
hard.

At last, Vincent lowered the weapon, and waited in silence. His  
stone-hard gaze fixed down on the moaning victim. His face remained  
devoid of any emotion.

After another disgruntled curse, the wounded mercenary began in a shaky  
voice, "..look...it's..it's this run-down hideout...some junky old lab  
facility...w-way over in that ghost sector...s-sector 7."

No comment; only the same dispassionate gaze.

"..it's...(ugh! Shit!)....," he grunted through heavy gasps, "The lab  
facility is hidden under some demolished, old house. You wouldn't think  
it at first, but the lab's actually under the house... under all the  
damn rubble 'n junk."

Vincent weighed down each word, but said nothing to interrupt.

The mercenary gulped some air. Sweat mixed into his blood. A sickly  
paleness discolored his anxious face.

"S-some days ago...about a week ago, Davoren sauntered into our  
hang-out," he writhed out weakly, "..said he had this special job for  
us.. some kinda 'kill and retrieve' mission. He wanted men... lotsa men  
for the job!"

Vincent did not speak.

"Well, I never heard of him before, and sure as Hell, none of the other  
boys did. So I wasn't too ready to strike a quick deal with him. But  
then, the guy said he'd pay us real nice if we took up the job  
immediately....he said he needed the men now....offered us a friggin'  
five million gil!!!"

The mercenary squeezed out another horrible oath as the pain stung his  
limb again. He rattled on with a nervous chuckle in his tremulous voice,  
"You can imagine, we all laughed in his face! I mean, shit! Five million  
gil?!! Sure, we get expensive missions once in a while, but FIVE  
MILLION?!! No one ever offers THAT much money!!!  
We all thought he was bullshitting us!!"

He glanced at his silent captor, then gasped out, "..but then, the  
bastard pulls out his fancy cheque book, and damn! he actually writes  
down 'five million gil'!!! He wasn't screwing around!! He goes flashing  
the paper around for everyone to see, saying he'll give it to whoever  
kills you first. So of course, I jumped at the job!! Hell, we all did!!  
We just figured he was some hired hitman who needed back-up... or mebbe  
a wealthy business man on a vendetta. I didn't care! I just wanted all  
that money!!!"

Vincent listened to the story, growing all the more thoughtful: he  
agreed Davoren could pass for a rich business man or an assassin. And to  
be sure, the payment had sounded far too good to be ignored, yet if only  
true. The clever gunman had merely tricked these fools for his own  
purposes. Not only had he known Vincent would kill them all, he never  
had such money from the beginning.

"Davoren...he then led us all over to that damn run-down old lab  
house...and ordered us to stay there for a while. He said he'd tell us  
when to attack. We just needed to wait for the right time. I dunno...he  
seemed to be getting his orders from some 'Professor' or something like  
that, but that wasn't any of our business. We just waited like he said,"  
here the mercenary stifled a violent grunt, then hurriedly added,  
"..tonight, Davoren finally signaled the go-ahead. He gave me the  
orders, and we all moved out."

The mercenary paused a moment as his hard gasps overpowered his hoarse  
voice. He squeezed out at length, "..but if you go to that lab house  
now, you won't find anyone there. They...they all m-moved out. Davoren  
and his Professor-boss...t-there was this other mercenary group  
too....they weren't with us and we didn't know them....they also moved  
out with Davoren. Everyone left."

"Where?" demanded Vincent calmly.

"I haven't a shit-ass clue!! I dunno where the Hell they went or why!  
They just moved out! Gone!!!"

He looked up at Vincent to check his reaction, and shivered on feeling  
those horrible crimson eyes burn into his face.

"That's all I know!! I swear to God, man!!" exclaimed the frantic  
mercenary in pain, "I know nothing more! Shit, if Davoren even finds out  
I told you all this, he'll friggin'..."

"You were the leader of your group, correct?" commented Vincent very  
meaningfully. He assumed so based on the fact that Davoren had given him  
the orders.

"Ah?! Uh..y-yeah..I...," the man stumbled in bewilderment.

"Tell me where has he taken her."

"I just told you! I don't know where they went!! They all left that  
damn lab house!!"

"You're not answering my question," warned Vincent with such unnatural  
coolness.

"I am, dammit!! I tell ya!! I don't know!! I don't!!!"

"You say you were leader of your group."

"Yes!!! But..."

"Then you'd obviously know a bit more than you otherwise claim"

"I..ugh...I d-don't..."

Vincent did not wait to hear the rest. He aimed the gun at the man's  
forehead, and prepared to fire.

Wild, almost insane, terror contorted the mercenary's face as he  
cringed away on the ground. His bloodshot eyes were wide with fear.

"S-SOME SHINRA LAB!!! A LAB!!!!" he instantly shouted at the top of his  
lungs, "A SECRET SHINRA LAB HERE IN MIDGAR!!!! THAT'S WHERE THEY ALL  
WENT!!! SHE'S THERE!!!!!"

"...another lab?" asked Vincent. He still kept the gun aimed.

"I don't know!! Shit!! Shit!! I don't know!!" raved the distraught man,  
confused by his own violent outburst, " I heard this f-f-from the other  
mercenary group...they mentioned some secret lab..with all the  
state-of-the-art science technology and equipment... it used to belong  
to ShinRa...it's still somewhere a-around Midgar, even after the company  
went down. It's the secret lab! That's probably where Davoren took  
her!!"

Vincent said nothing, but instead cast one long, dubious look at the  
sweaty man.

"I swear I don't know where this lab is!!" bellowed the man against  
the cold scrutiny, "Our mission was only to kill you!! we weren't told  
anything more!! I just happened to overhear this!!  
I swear! Dammit, I swear!!!"

A prolonged silence followed this intense cross-examination. The  
mercenary broke off into a heavy bout of gasping, moaning whenever stung  
by pain. Vincent stood tall over him with the gun still pointed.

So far, the interrogation hadn't been too successful. When he had  
discarded all the useless information, Vincent found he hadn't much, at  
least not enough to answer his simple question. He reviewed his  
interrogation of Davoren. He scanned through every word spoken in hopes  
of somehow stumbling across some hint or clue. Unfortunately, Davoren  
hadn't revealed anything.

"...who is 'the boy'?" inquired Vincent all of a sudden.

The mercenary blinked stupidly back up at his captor.

"Wha?!..b...boy??!" he re-echoed, bewildered by the question.

Indeed, while recalling that last interrogation, Vincent had remembered  
Davoren mention some "boy".

"What...what boy?!" cried the mercenary again in wild alarm.

"A boy on...a 'brain scanner'."

"What the Hell?! I...I don't know no boy!!"

"And yet, Davoren mentioned one," interjected Vincent rather sternly,  
"Who is he?"

"B-boy? I...," the man fumbled like a madman, evidently wracking his  
brains to answer the riddle, "I tell ya, I never...ah!! He...he  
p-probably meant that loony Rufus kid!!!"

"...'loony Rufus kid'?" muttered Vincent under his breath.  
His ruby-red eyes narrowed down so sharply on the man below.

"Y-yeah! He's an absolute crack-head of a bastard! Totally nuts!!"  
spluttered the mercenary, "he goes into all these weird spasms.... just  
way outta control! I dunno, he's always garbling out this shit about  
burning up or getting blown apart."

Though Vincent made no comment, his eyes gleamed in deep interest.

"NO ONE can hold that stupid kid once he starts talking crazy like  
that. He gets too violent and won't listen to anyone! But for some  
reason, D-Davoren....he's the only one who can calm the kid down again.  
He just knows how to handle him..."

Another heavy silence followed.Vincent asked no more questions.

The mercenary lay sprawled on his side, exhausted and completely  
crushed. He lifted his weary eyes one last time to Vincent, as if  
raising them up to the merciful heavens.

"T-that's all I know," he whimpered out in such a pathetic moan, "I  
swear, man...I told you everything.....p-please..don't..don't kill  
me..."

Vincent hardly flinched a muscle. The gun remained fixed on the man's  
forehead. His cold eyes lingered on the mercenary's pleading anxious  
face.

He believed him now. Vincent had squeezed all information out until  
nothing more remained. Yet in the end, he hadn't found any answers, only  
more questions. This whole "experiment" remained enshrouded deep in  
mystery. But more importantly, Aeris had disappeared, with only a scrap  
of information of her possible whereabouts: a ShinRa lab in Midgar.

Slowly, Vincent lowered his gun down to his side, then turned to walk  
away. The cross-examination had ended; he would spare this man's life  
after all.

Vincent limped away with his entire back turned towards the mercenary.  
In return, the humble man huddled his head down in silent thanks, all  
the while watching his merciful captor stagger away.

However, his frantic fear soon returned to scornful hatred. The  
treacherous mercenary tactfully reached for something hidden along the  
side of his bandoleer. In an instant, he yanked out a small revolver,  
and aimed it straight at Vincent.

He wasn't fast enough. Before the mercenary could even reach for the  
trigger, Vincent suddenly swung around again and shot him point blank,  
straight through the skull. He had foreseen this treacherous stupidity.

Vincent coldly flipped the gun back into its holster. He did not bother  
inspecting the dead corpse, not even a contemptuous glance. He resumed  
his slow journey down the winding road.

Bluntly speaking, he did not where to go now.

His heavy feet dragged across the ground. His whole face darkened to  
morose gloominess, almost bleak despair. Soon, Vincent strayed into an  
entangled web of deep thought and musings. They all clashed against each  
other for some answer.

A ShinRa lab in Midgar...but where? The city was far too huge for a  
simple search. And this lab, if indeed it be top secret, would be quite  
impossible to find. Then what to do? The desperate question instantly  
crashed into a dead-end. In truth, he did not know.

During his unfruitful meditation, Vincent stumbled across that name  
"Rufus" again. He found himself revolving that particular name over and  
over in his mind. It sounded quite familiar, as though he had somehow  
crossed that name several times before. Yet for a long moment, memory  
failed him.

At last, the answer came in the form of a huge, rather impressive red  
banner. On it read the words "New Age President of ShinRa", followed by  
the bold, confident signature of "Rufus".

Of course. Rufus ShinRa, the President's only son.

Vincent lingered in complete surprise: he distinctly remembered hearing  
that Rufus had died just over a year ago. One of those dangerous  
WEAPONS, while attacking Midgar, had in fact blasted the ShinRa  
Headquarters, with President Rufus at its very centre. The young man  
should have perished.

But then, had Professor Hojo somehow.....

Vincent's mind seemed to drift in the same mad circles:  
the "boy", according to the treacherous mercenary, usually raved about  
"burning up or getting blown apart". Was this the same explosion that  
had supposedly killed Rufus? Could this be the very same Rufus ShinRa,  
only the second worst enemy of Avalanche?

And even if it was, what possible connection had Rufus to any of this  
madness? As far as Vincent could guess, the young man couldn't have any  
part in the mystery, so why should the Professor drag him in? Aeris,  
Davoren, Hojo, himself, and this new surprise, where was the connection?  
Nothing seemed to have any logic or meaning!

It all ultimately led up to the "experiment". Davoren had described it  
as a complicated jigsaw puzzle, which in the end formed a whole picture.

But for the last time, what was it?

Vincent's thoughts returned to this mysterious lab again. It seemed the  
only place to lay all his suspicions and vexatious questions to rest.

Yet he still hadn't the vaguest idea where this secret lab might be  
found. Vincent had broken off his affiliation to the company thirty-one  
years ago. To be sure, ShinRa Inc. had changed dramatically during that  
long time. Its technology had reached the very pinnacle of achievement.  
Services, facilities, all fields of modern science and industry had been  
incredibly developed.

Therefore, it wouldn't be too improbable that within the long space of  
time he was gone, some "secret laboratory" had evolved somewhere. The  
question repeated: where?

He obviously needed someone who had had a more recent involvement with  
ShinRa Inc. than himself.

In desperation, Vincent turned for help. Cloud first popped into his  
mind: the man had been in ShinRa's service for a few years, perhaps he  
had heard of such a "secret lab".

But Vincent instantly abandoned the idea. Cloud had only been a mere  
trooper. Such information would have been strictly confidential, well  
beyond his reach. Besides, Vincent did not want to involve any of his  
friends in this danger, not while they could remain safe from harm and  
out of his way.

Then who, for God's sake? He needed someone who would have easier  
access to ShinRa's classified information, data, and facility locations.  
Any whisperings amongst the higher hierarchy of the company's important  
executives, this person would have heard it. Any business conducted,  
this person would know of it. But who?

Suddenly, Vincent knew exactly who to ask. It would be neither  
pleasurable nor easy. It would take many, many inquiries and diligent  
searches. Yet if he wanted a final answer to this ominous "experiment",  
he would take this last chance.

His thoughts returned to Aeris. If he ever wanted to pull her out of  
that tortuous nightmare.....to shelter her again in warmth and safety,  
then he would take this last chance.

-End of Chp.47

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	45. Chapter 48

I Know What's Beneath The Snow Fields -Chp.48 

At the far corner of some narrow side street stood "The Fleetwood", one of the many bars dedicated solely to the nightlife in Midgar. A flight of stone steps led down to the main entrance, where a broad, impressive guard stood watch.

The sign by the entrance read "The Fleetwood" in golden, rather elaborate letters. Past these oak doors and down two more steps, the corridor opened into a large, luxurious hall. Round tables of all sizes scattered across the spacious room. A hazy sea of smoke hung overhead.

All lights had been dimmed greatly, if only to attract everyone's attention to the entertainment up on stage. Some young singer in a skin-tight, glittery dress basked under the spotlight with a hand-held microphone. She sung some sentimental love ballad in an overly-sweet voice, smiling or winking many times to her admiring audience.

Not surprisingly, most of her audience comprised of men: lonely bachelors for a night out; bitter husbands on the run from their nagging wives; even old men who fancied themselves still as young as before.  
They smoke and drank deep, some murmured about any idle topic, others simply enjoyed this pleasing sight (or the music, whichever they preferred).

The magnificent bar spread itself down the middle of the hall, with many high stools outlining its shiny, wooden counter. Plenty of customers lounged around for drinks or a friendly chat. The old bartender, a respectable gentleman nearly 60 years old, bustled about like a bumble bee. He served up the alcoholic beverages, replaced filled ashtrays, and hustled the waitresses to work faster.

Indeed, nightlife thrived so wonderfully at "The Fleetwood". An oasis for anyone seeking respite from the mountainous troubles outside, be they work, debt, loneliness, women (or men).

One particular young man sat slouched back against the bar counter,  
swirling what little remained of his drink around in a glass. He was of medium height, gaunt, and slovenly dressed in looses slacks, and an untucked shirt. He had an amazing shock of pink hair, with a thin, long pigtail dangling behind. One neat scar marked each cheekbone, not only accentuating the leanness of his face, but also the cynicism in his sea-green eyes.

Another man sat on the stool on his right. This man lay slumped over the counter, his bald head tiredly buried in both arms. He appeared taller, older than his lean companion, certainly more muscular. Yet despite the noisy bustling around him, the weary man never lifted his head. He was either drunk or asleep.

The pink-haired man glanced a moment at his bald companion, then turned his narrow eyes back to the dazzling singer on stage. He coolly finished off his drink, while one foot beat along with the sweet music.

He hardly noticed anything else until a nervous voice nearby suddenly addressed, "...Mr. Reno?"

Reno cast a languid look to the side. He found the entrance guard standing there, his sweaty face red with evident irritation.

"Uh..Sir, there's someone who insists on seeing you now," informed the vexed guard, "I tried my best, but..."

The man hadn't finished his complaint when suddenly a blond young woman popped out from behind him. She glared so angrily at Reno, who almost choked out his drink on recognizing her.

"So there you are!" she exclaimed aloud, "I have just wasted the last half hour trying to get this idiot to let me through!"

"Hey! This is a private club, Missy!" retorted the incensed guard at once, renewing the argument yet again, "You can't just barge in here,  
bothering customers, like you're queen of the castle! I oughtta..."

The young woman opened her mouth for an immediate rebuttal. Luckily,  
Reno intervened in time. With many assurances like "Sorry, she's with me" and "Yeah, yeah, I know her", he managed to appease the furious guard. So the man reluctantly retreated back to his post, leaving Reno to handle this infuriated woman by himself.

The argument thus settled, Reno slumped back into his stool, then leaned forward against the counter. He casually signaled the bartender for another drink.

"Elena, what the heck are you doing here?" he frowned disapprovingly at the woman.

Elena wore a smart business suit, with a posh handbag slung over one shoulder, which gave her petite figure an air of immediate importance.  
Her blond hair, carefully parted on one side, reached down to her chin.  
The haircut, coupled with her impeccable make-up, suited her attractive face perfectly.

She peevishly folded both arm across her chest. Anger marked every feature of her face.

"I have been searching every bar, casino hall, and nightclub in Midgar for you!" she scolded the lazy Reno, "You were supposed to come home early tonight, remember?"

The man merely scoffed the obligation aside. When the drink had been delivered, Reno picked the glass up to his thin lips.

"Ah...gimme a break, Elena," Reno dismissed so casually, "Can't a guy enjoy a little drink out once in a while?"

"Not tonight! You were supposed to get the groceries, pick up that payment bill from the bank," she angrily snatched the glass from between his fingers, then cried, "...AND pay for this month's rent!"

Reno blinked back at her, as if he'd never heard of the word.

"...rent?" he repeated.

"Yes! For the landlady!"

Reno thought a moment.

"Oh! Is it my turn already? Seems I just paid her and already the old bat's screaming for more," he rubbed his temples, then sighed out,  
"Alright. Whatever. I'll pay her later."

Elena slammed the glass onto the counter, at the same time giving Reno such an angry look. She found his easy-going attitude far too unbearable.

"You'll pay her tomorrow," she decided, "C'mon! It's midnight now! I'm taking you home before you really get drunk!"

She began tugging at his arm to drag him away. All in vain; Reno easily yanked his arm out of her grip. Not only did he lean further against the corner, he picked up the glass again to show he would not leave just yet.

"Now looky here, Elena. I've had a bad day, okay?" Reno complained as he sipped his pleasant drink, "Everyone's been at my throat, hassling me around for no reason. First that silly sales clerk, then this sourpuss customer, then my boss. I just need a break."

"Hmph! They're probably hassling you because you never...what's wrong with Rude?"

At last, Elena had noticed the older man slumped forward against the bar counter, which instantly caught her concern. Indeed, Rude hadn't flinched a muscle during the entire conversation.

Reno glanced askance at his slouched friend, then explained with another sip, "Oh, Rude's had a pretty rotten day too."

"What happened?" Elena asked worriedly.

"His paranoid little boss-man was convinced (again) that someone wanted to kill him today. So, he made Rude accompany him on every single meeting he had...fifteen in all."

With a kind pat against his friend's heavy shoulder, he chuckled out,  
"He was so damn tired in the end, he just fell asleep on the table. He didn't even drink anything."

"Oh, poor man! That's horrible!" The tender Elena sympathized.

"Hey! How come HE gets all the sympathy here?" retorted Reno sourly, "I had a bad day too, y'know!"

He pouted at her in feigned anger, the perfect resemblance of a jealous child. In an instant, Reno had won her favor again. But rather than let him see her defeated smile, Elena tossed her head to the side.

"He's a hard-worker, you're just a silly slacker!" she accused playfully, "Thanks to you, that 'old bat' will probably have us all kicked out by..."

"Hey there, sweet thang!" cut in an arrogant, gruff voice all of a sudden.

Elena started at this rude interruption. On turning around, she found a hulk of a man towering over her. He had a dirty black beard, and wore a beaten leather jacket torn at one elbow (some sort of fashion statement,  
perhaps?). An insolent smile stretched across his ugly face, showing off the wide gap between his two front teeth.

Two other men, evidently his companions, lingered behind. they chuckled like idiots or passed on a rude comment amongst themselves. They all reeked of sweat and alcohol.

Elena, on the other hand, seemed quite perplexed.

"I been watching you from across the room over there," he announced with a cocky motion of the hand, "Never seen you here before but damn!  
You look hot!"

All three men exploded into coarse laughter, the drunken leader giving her another meaningful wink.

In return, Elena blinked back in confusion. She glanced back at Reno for help, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"Name's Wallace," introduced the bulky man. He grinned more stupidly as he shifted his impressive weight to the side, "but everyone calls me King Wally, leader of the Fire Fang Gang. We own the whole sector! And you are...?"

When he casually dropped his hairy paw on her slender shoulder, Elena at last understood.

She instantly brushed his hand off with a curt,"Not interested"

However, the drunken man would not be so easily refused. Much to her alarm, he roughly grabbed hold of her arm, then yanked her forward.

"What say you ditch scarecrow and baldy over there? Enjoy the company of real men," Wallace invited with a drunken guffaw, " C'mon baby! Don't you be playing no hard-to-get!"

"Ow! Let go of me!" cried Elena angrily. She squirmed in this painful grip, "I just said I'm not interested! Let go!'

"Hey, babe! you better show respect to our King!" demanded one of the drunkards.

"Yeah! No one refuses King Wally!" laughed another.

"Let go! Let go, I say!" resisted Elena.

"Say pal," called Reno's cool voice suddenly.

Everyone looked at him, the stupid drunkards with a hateful glare,  
Elena in surprise. Reno sat slouched in his high-stool, at complete ease with this situation. A somewhat crooked smile twisted his lips as he addressed Wallace.

Rude, however, remained slumped over the counter.

"What the hell do YOU want, little man?" thundered the brawny man. He flung poor Elena aside, and faced the intruder in full view, with both fists propped against his hips.

"The lady just said she wasn't interested," Reno remarked cuttingly,  
"Now obviously, if she had wanted an ape for company, she'd have went to the zoo. At least the ones over there smell better."

All three drunkards gaped stupidly at the insult until at last Wallace understood. He bared his teeth in a raging fury.

"C'MERE, YOU GODDAMN...," he roared out.

The drunkard hurled one huge fist straight for Reno's face. However,  
not only had Reno anticipated the attack, but had already decided the counter-move. In the blink of an eye, he gracefully flipped back onto the counter, just as Wallace savagely punched the stool instead. No sooner had Reno touched onto the counter, than he grabbed hold of a heavy ashtray nearby and swung it clear into the shocked assailant's face. The blow knocked a tooth out of Wallace as it sent him flying to the side, right into an empty table.

The violent commotion brought the entire hall to a confused halt. The beautiful singer, who had been singing an encore, stumbled over her words. The music stopped. Many customers turned their heads around towards the ruckus. Even the entrance guard peeked inside to get a look.

Reno stood on top of the bar counter, hardly bothered by the odd stares he received from every direction. The scornful smile had changed to a most cold frown. His deep sea-green eyes were narrowed in cool indifference.

Elena looked on in anxious concern. Surprisingly, Rude remained slumped over the counter, right by Reno's feet. Nothing it seemed could awaken him.

For a moment, Wallace's two drunken companions stared at their fallen leader. He lay thrashed against the floor, the broken table and chairs all heaped on top of him. A blind rage suddenly seized them.

"Asshole! Yer gonna pay!" swore one man.

"No one does that to Fire Fang!" thundered the other.

"With a cheesy name like that, I'm not surprised," remarked Reno coolly.

This second insult would not go by unanswered. They both lunged straight for him, roaring at the top of their voices for vengeance. With such easy nimbleness, Reno dodged the double attack by cart wheeling aside along the counter.

One of the furious drunkards lunged at full speed right after him,  
hoping to grab hold of this slippery enemy. However, Reno had foreseen this attempt too. Therefore, he simply sprang high over the man's head,  
which caused the latter to tumble wildly over the counter, and crash into the wine bottles behind.

Reno, on the other hand, landed on the ground again, unharmed.

Outraged to insanity, the last drunkard charged like a bull straight for Reno. But this time, Elena would not be an idle watcher. With a loud "Reno, look out!", the woman swung her expensive handbag right against the attacker's face, then flipped him up into the air by one incredible sweep of the hand. The astonished man crashed head first back into the floor, where he lay fully sprawled out without moving.

During the entire brawl, Rude hadn't lifted his head once.

Both Reno and Elena stood the victors, he in cool composure, she more worried about the damage done to her precious handbag. Everyone gawked in amazement at the spectacle. Some simply watched on, others muttered faint exclamations like "cool!" or "What happened?"

In any case, Reno carelessly flicked his long pigtail back. He seemed quite bored by the drunkards' pathetic attempts.

"Honestly! Ganging up on a poor man like me," he drew out lazily, "You guys are lucky I'm in such a generous mood, otherwise I would've killed you."

The silly squabble thus concluded, Reno returned to the bar counter.  
However, he stopped short when Wallace suddenly scrambled back up to his feet in a perfect fit of rage. To him, this fight hadn't finished yet.

He savagely grabbed hold of the nearest chair, screaming out, "C'mere, you scrawny little punk-ass! I'll kill ya! I'll kill ya!"

Reno turned his head around. He only dignified the threat with a composed, rather indifferent expression, then turned away again. Not at all bothered, he stood at the bar counter to finish up his drink.

That was the final snub. Wallace charged straight at Reno, swinging the chair around in a mad passion.

The old bartender, who hadn't dared speak all this time, suddenly intervened from behind the counter.

"Hey! Hey! Wallace!" the old man cried out in alarm, "Don't go messing around THOSE guys! They're damn TURKS!"

Wallace instantly halted, and stood agape at the warning. The news spread like wild fire from mouth to mouth. The more cautious people backed away; others crowded around for a closer look. Faint mutterings broke out. Indeed, that one word "Turks" had caused a noticeable stir amongst the shocked spectators.

Nevertheless, Reno remained at the bar counter with his back to the crowd. Elena stood by his side, very discomforted by the dozens of curious stares. Rude stayed slumped over as always.

Wallace stared another moment before suddenly exploding into the coarsest, most loud bout of laughter.

"Turks! HAH! Gimme a break, old man!" he roared all over the hall,  
"Turks ain't nothing no more! Just a buncha wussy, push-over bums without a job!"

"What did you say!" Elena snapped back at once. Anger instantly boiled her blood.

Reno merely picked up his glass again in perfect easiness.

"Turks! Whadda joke!" the drunkard spat out, glaring more venomously at Reno, "Yeah! Not so hot now that you can't hide yer ass behind ShinRa, huh? Yeah, on top of the world...doing anything you want, then bam! Suddenly, you jes' low-life worms! Huh! You must be the worst piece of shit on the whole damn planet!"

Amidst this insolent laughter, Reno gulped down the rest of his drink without the least care. He didn't need to look behind. He could discern the spectators' nervous stares change to hateful glares.

Wallace hurtled a few more drunken oaths, encouraged onwards by two or three other spectators, until Elena could not bear it any longer.

"Ooh! How dare you, you...you...JERK!" she retorted, "Why I.."

Much to her surprise, Reno gently grabbed her arm.

"Elena, let it go," he dismissed gravely.

"But..."

"Every underdog will have his day; every sewer slime will have his say"  
he replied, indicating Wallace with a nod of the head.

The drunken man did not need to understand the wise proverb to realize he had just been insulted.

He instantly resumed his mad charge with the wooden chair, shouting,  
"Who you callin' sewer slime, you turkey! I'll friggin' rip ya ta..."

Everything ended in a flash, far too quick for anyone to expect. Before the aggressive drunkard could even finish the threat, Rude suddenly sprang off the stool for a swift rebuff. In one powerful sweep, he kicked the chair out of Wallace's two hands. Without pausing, Rude swung himself around once to deliver one mighty elbow clean into the man's ugly face, thereby sending him flying back into another table. Wallace did not get up again.

Reno stood in his same spot, totally indifferent to what had just passed. Elena blinked is surprise, while all spectators lingered in silent awe. Indeed, no one (except perhaps Reno) had expected this sleeping man to leap up like that, much less for him to be such an effective ally.

Imposingly tall with stern brown eyes, Rude studied the unconscious Wallace another moment, then turned away in sour resentment.

"Bad enough you wake me up with that silly hollering," he muttered tiredly, "..but to go on and insult the Turks?"

The old bartender, always a strong advocate of peace, had been quite upset by the brawl, more by the disturbance of his customers. The entrance guard had been equally as furious, especially when he discovered two tables, a chair, and countless wine bottles had been destroyed. The guests had all muttered amongst themselves, and glared so fixedly.

Elena, Reno, and his friend Rude had no choice but to leave.

It was one o'clock in the morning, dark, and extremely cold. The shops and cafes had closed long ago. Houses stood in darkness. No lights shone through their windows, the doors having been securely locked and the inhabitants retreated to bed. The side streets stretched into empty bleakness.

The three strolled down one deserted alleyway in total silence. They were heading home.

Elena led the way, while both men trailed behind a few steps, their pace being far more relaxed. Reno walked with one hand thrust deep into his sidepocket, the other had slung the jacket over his shoulder. Rude marched by his side, still rubbing the bit of sleep from his eyes.

Reno flexed out one arm, but instantly twitched it back in sharp pain,  
"Ouch! Damn it, I think I pulled something when I flipped backwards (must be getting old)..."

Rude glanced at him. He remained silent for a moment.

"...we won't be able to go back there for a while," he stated softly.  
Indeed, they had created too many enemies.

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Elena."

"It's not my fault!" she retorted against Reno's sarcasm, "I only went there to look for you! And besides, that jerk deserves what he got! I'm glad Rude broke his nose!"

Elena tossed her head away in silent vexation, refusing to have any share of the blame. However, she had only taken two steps when Reno suddenly skipped up to her side. With such friendly easiness, he dropped one arm around her shoulder.

"Now Elena, I would've flung him off a cliff for you, but then,  
there're no cliffs here in Midgar," he joked with a meaningful wink.

Elena's frown lifted into a reluctant smile, not at all bothered by his arm. He had soothed her bad temper again.

For a long time, nobody spoke a word. They reached the end of this bleak alley, where it led into a wider street outlined on both sides by bleak shops. Soon, they emerged onto the main boulevard.

"But Elena, you shouldn't be wandering around Midgar by yourself," Rude finally reproached in fatherly disapproval, "...it's getting pretty dangerous now."

"What do you mean?" she asked him.

"Didn't you even hear about that big park shoot-out?" commented Reno as he slipped his hand off her shoulder, "It happened like four..five days ago. It's been all over the news!"

Elena turned back to him. She obviously hadn't heard of it.

"There was this really brutal shoot-out in the Midgar Public Park...y'know, 'Snow Fields' Park. Bullets flying all around, and there was even a bomb somewhere. So far, they've found eight bodies, but think there's still more around."

"I heard it was some gangster shoot-out," Rude added, "...some kind of criminal war between two rival gangs. Of course, there's no way of knowing for sure. They're all dead."

"That's awful," Elena mumbled sympathetically.

Reno thrust both hands deep into his pockets, with the jacket tossed under his armpit. A contemptuous frown marked his face.

"Sheesh! These gangsters are getting crazier every time!" he scoffed out in scorn "First, they made that huge gas explosion at the ShinRa Haunt...now this! And the police here are so damn stupid...can't even put two and two together. Now if this had happened with the US around,  
ah!"

They both watched Reno flick back his long pigtail, then cast his narrow eyes down to the ground. They knew too well what he had meant,  
yet neither the uneasy Elena nor the silent Rude cared to comment.

The three marched down the black road, past empty office buildings and dingy sidestreets. Nobody spoke for a long time.

The long path led across a stone bridge which arched above some gravel street down below. On reaching this lonesome structure, Reno suddenly hopped onto the broad parapet, and walked along with his two silent friends. However, he soon stopped in his spot. With hands still buried deep into his pockets, he watched the grim skyline of Midgar from the top of the parapet.

"But y'know, it's kinda funny what that guy back there said... about us," he remarked coolly at last.

Both Rude and Elena stopped, then looked back at him.

"I mean, we used to be Turks, right?" Reno asked the bleak skyline beyond. A touch of bitterness marred his playful voice, "The secret service of ShinRa Inc. Watch out! Nobody messes with those guys.  
They're damn Turks! They're professionals!"

Neither one of his friends spoke. Rude, in particular, seemed rather uneasy with this man's strange tone. He ventured up towards Reno, while Elena remained in her spot.

"But now, that's all changed. Everything's changed so much in such a short time," Reno sighed out to himself, "It seems we pick up more dirty looks and trouble once people find out who we were. It's like, they want to get revenge on the company by taking it out on us. And he's right.  
This time, we don't have any company to hide behind."

Rude stopped at the parapet, and leaned against it so that one elbow lay next to Reno's feet. He fidgeted in an uncomfortable silence as he listened to the strange soliloquy.

He happened to glance up at his friend. Deep solemnity marked Reno's entire face. His narrow sea-green eyes had strayed off into the far distance.

"Sometimes...just sometimes...I wonder what Tseng would say if he could see us now," Reno muttered softly into the air, "..or better yet,  
what the President would think of us. His secret servicemen...one of the highest-ranking jobs in all of ShinRa Inc., look at us now: an electrician in a small-time company; a bodyguard for some high-strung loser; and a secretary in some unknown law-firm."

No one replied.

"It's just...not the same, is it?" he smiled weakly. His voice had sounded almost regretful.

Elena beheld the two men from a distance, one perched up on the parapet, the other standing by his side. They had always struck her as rather...different. Neither of them possessed Tseng's "no-nonsense"  
attitude or his cool professionalism. She recalled their first meeting.  
She had thought Rude "too quiet" and Reno "far, far too carefree". Yet in time, they had proven themselves quite capable. They were life-long friends, both dedicated heart and sole to their job.

It came as no surprise to her if they occasionally sunk back a moment into their old memories. After all, they had shared so many precious years of friendship as Turks.

After the historical fall of ShinRa Inc., these three friends had somehow managed to still stay together, driven more by need than anything else. All of them had been forced to seek new employment and residence elsewhere, "turn a new leaf and start again".

Unfortunately, not only had their new jobs been disappointing, the salary had been too meager for a new, separate life.

Therefore, the three had wisely decided to share the costs amongst themselves, thus cutting the expenses by a third. They lived together in some medium-sized apartment, snuggled in one of the backstreets. They alternated paying the rent and buying necessities. Each had a separate bedroom and a private life. This was how they had lived for the past year.

A very strange "family", to use the term loosely. To Reno, Elena took too long infront of the mirror, even longer in the bathroom. She showed ghastly poor culinary skills, and had absolutely no knowledge of tax budgets or credit balances. She hassled him too much to do his chores.  
Her mother, though a respectable gentlewoman, annoyed him with her snobbish airs (she always referred to him as "that horrible street-punk").

To Elena, Reno could switch from silly to serious regardless of the situation. He never tidied up his room or folded his clothes, yet surprisingly, stacked his beer cans into such neat piles. He forgot too many things, like rent and chores. He always found some occasion to drink, or if not, made one up himself.

Poor Rude seemed the only flawless one. By nature, he was quiet, tidy,  
and so kind to his friends. He worked hard, and did his share of chores without complaint. Of course, he too enjoyed a good drink with an occasional cigarette or a poker game, but never to excess. He knew his own limit.

Yet for all their differences, they were content enough. Both men were quite protective of their Elena, Reno always being the quick one to disperse her bad temper. He calculated all the complicated bills and tax accounts for her. Rude repaired any problems around the home, from the mysterious clog in the drain to the scary mouse under her bed.

In return, Elena tended to Rude whenever he had too long a day (like massaging his sore back while he watched T.V). She reminded Reno if he forgot, set his unsightly room into some reasonable order, and defended him against her mother's vicious tongue.

How greatly this life differed from their old lives. Everything had changed too much. Indeed, what would Tseng or the President think if either could see them now?

The three had resumed their journey down the boulevard in complete silence. They soon turned into some dimly lit sidestreet, down a few more stone steps, then onwards into another narrow street. At last, they reached an apartment building, their home.

They silently entered the square reception hall, where one of them signaled for the elevator. When it arrived, they all shuffled inside,  
and Elena pressed the appropriate button.

For an awkward moment, no one spoke.

"A..anyway," stammered Elena at last, "..are you boys hungry?"

"Kinda," admitted Reno.

"Do you want me to make you some lasagna?"

"No thanks. I wanna live a bit longer."

Elena's eyes instantly flared up at the cutting remark.

"My cooking isn't THAT bad, you jerk!" she defended, flashing one fist into his dubious face, "I'll have you know, Rude loves my cooking!  
Right, Rude?"

The direct question sent poor Rude into a flurry of confusion. He dared not contradict her; then again, he dared not risk tasting her food.

"..er...well, Elena..," he fumbled out, "..uh...it's just, we hate to bother you with cooking. It's late, you're tired. Why not just give yourself a break and order some take-out instead?"

"Sweet-talker," mumbled Reno under his breath.

Nevertheless, Elena accepted the kind suggestion with a defeated "hmph!"

The elevator soon came to a chimed halt, and withdrew its metallic doors. They marched down the long corridor, where they stopped at one particular door. Elena fumbled in her handbag for her keys.

"Fine! We'll order ramen noodles for tonight," she decided as she opened the door, "But Reno, don't forget! First thing tomorrow, you must pay the landlady and..."

Yet before Elena could step inside, Reno suddenly grabbed her arm to stop her.

She looked at him in surprise. She found his deep eyes glaring so suspiciously into the black apartment. All his muscles had tensed. Rude glanced from his friend's face, then towards the source. His face too grew icy stern. They stood in unnatural stillness, reflecting the deathly silence inside the dark apartment.

"..w-what is it?" asked Elena.

Reno, however,hushed her by placing one finger against his lips

"There's someone inside there," he whispered ominously.

-End of Chp.48

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	46. Chapter 49

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.49 

The door stood half-way open, a threshold between the light outside and the thick darkness within. The apartment echoed in heavy silence.  
Nothing inside stirred.

And yet, no mistake: Reno felt certain "someone" was there.

"What? Don't be silly!" Elena laughed nervously at his unreasonable suspicion, "The door was locked the whole time! Nobody's inside!"

But Reno seemed to grow all the more sure of this mysterious presence.  
He glanced over at Rude, who instantly gave one meaningful nod in agreement. Neither man breathed a word.

Elena found herself effectively pushed back out of harm's way. She wondered at their odd behavior. But rather than protest anymore, she lingered behind in a very uneasy silence.

Both men glued their backs against opposite ends of the door. With one quick movement, Reno slipped out a short metallic rod from his sleeve,  
which instantly elongated into his nightstaff weapon. Rude cautiously pushed the door open, then motioned his head towards the inside. After another moment, the two stealthy men snuck inside.

The empty hallway stretched into obscure blackness. An eerie silence haunted the air. Each man slowly slid along opposite walls of the corridor, stern eyes riveted on the darkness ahead. Nothing so far; no thief or intruder.

They decided to split up. Rude signaled towards one bleak room to indicate he would investigate inside. Reno nodded in consent, then continued his noiseless journey until he reached the living room. He listened a moment: nothing except the monotonous tick-tocks of the clock. Gripping his nightstaff into defense mode, Reno ventured inside.

He could barely make out the outline of the room in such suffocating darkness. His sharp eyes strained through this obscurity: there stood the wide couch in the middle of the room, the lonesome T.V and coffee table propped up infront. Elena's piano snuggled against one wall. The thick curtains were drawn across the window. Everything was in perfect order. Indeed, no one seemed to be here.

Yet Reno still clung onto his suspicion. Tightening his grip around his weapon, he cautiously drifted deeper into the pitch-black room. His footsteps sounded so loud against such silence. His narrow eyes darted from one corner to the other in hopes of discovering this invisible presence.

He checked by the piano, then the coat closet: nothing. He peeked into the kitchen: empty. At a loss, Reno blindly groped his way towards the couch.

Suddenly, mad chaos shattered the silence. There was a wild, unearthly shriek, a hideous crash, followed by confused struggles in the dark and weak moans.

Rude rushed into the black living room at once. He found Reno clumsily sprawled on the floor, one leg twisted up on the couch, with the whole coffee table overturned against him. Elena, who had up to then anxiously waited outside, bolted straight for the commotion.

She pushed past Rude, where on recognizing that wailful moan, instantly cried out in horror, "Ah! Simon! My poor baby!"

Simon, of course, was Elena's beloved tabby cat, the fourth member of this odd little "family". Elena immediately found her way to the crushed Reno. She shoved the heavy table aside, heedlessly rolled him away too,  
then groped around the floor. At last, she picked up a soft, furry object into her arms.

"Oh Simon!" she sobbed out, nestling her limp cat so tenderly against her bosom, "Oh! Did that big, bad Reno squash your paw? Did sweet'ums get a nasty boo-boo on his paw?"

The cat let out a long-drawn meow to complain of its agony.

Apparently, while searching near the couch, Reno had stepped on the cat by accident. Its sudden shriek had startled him so badly, the poor man had stumbled over the coffee table, and crashed thus.

Reno struggled to sit up, while Elena tended to her distraught cat. She took absolutely no notice of his painful grunts or clumsy attempts.

"Reno! I told you no one was here!" Elena scolded severely, giving his pigtail one vicious tug, "You just HAD to scare everyone with your crazy imagination! Now look what you did! You hurt my poor kitty's paw, you brute!"

"Ow! Stupid refugee from the fiddle factory!" Reno spat back against her cat, "I'll hurt more than his paw!"

Amidst more such angry threats and bitter rebukes, Reno staggered up to his feet again. It seemed he had either imagined an intruder, or mistook poor Simon for one. In any case, Reno limped away, groping blindly through the heavy darkness for his way.

"Damn it! Rude, turn on the lights, will ya?" he called out.

Rude, who had remained at the entrance in silence, fumbled to obey. He groped along the wall until he found the switch, then quickly flicked it open.

But no sooner had the lights emerged, than Elena sprang back with a most terrified shriek, startling her cat and the two men into confusion.  
Reno instantly shot his eyes around, and stared in stunned shock.

There stood Vincent in one corner of the living room. That had been the mysterious presence he had detected but not found.

"OH..OH MY GOD!" Elena screamed more hysterically, "IT'S A THIEF! A KILLER!"

She did not wait another minute. Much to everyone's alarm (including Vincent's), the crazed woman yanked hold of a ceramic vase and hurtled the whole object straight at the intruder. Vincent barely managed to duck down, just as the vase smashed violently into the wall behind, then he stood up again.

Frightened out of her wits, Elena grabbed the lamp nearby for another try. Luckily however, both Rude and Reno acted in time to prevent any more damage. One grabbed her arm, the other blocked her way.

"Elena! Elena, calm down!" begged Rude, wrenching the hapless lamp out of her grip.

"Whoa! Hold it! Just hold it!" Reno tried to reason out, "I've seen this guy before! He was in Avalanche! Right, man? You were in Avalanche!"

He looked back at Vincent for some confirmation. Vincent uneasily affirmed with a calm, "That is correct."

The stunned Elena gaped a full moment at the composed intruder, in particular his sharp, metallic claw. Vincent coughed under his breath to ease her tension, at least show he intended no harm.

"What? You..you know this...man?" she faltered out to Reno.

"Of course! Don't you even recognize him? He's one of those Avalanche losers! Y'know, the blood-sucking vampire with the crippled arm!"

Vincent only frowned at the inaccurate description, but restricted all comments to himself.

"Lemme see now...," Reno delved back into his memory, snapping his fingers at the intruder, "Your name..it was...Vinnie, right?  
..uh...Vinnie...Vultine?"

"Vincent Valentine," he corrected very, very curtly.

"Yeah. Something like that."

A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

Vincent remained in his spot, the sole subject of all present scrutiny.  
He stood slightly turned away, with one hand thrust deep into the pocket of his long overcoat. Yet he seemed hardly bothered by this tension. His face expressed stoic coolness, that of strict business.

The others stood their ground too, Reno up front in cold defiance, his two friends behind in nervous restlessness. On picking up her precious cat again, Elena hid behind Rude's broad back, peering so apprehensively at this intruder. Rude felt very awkward in such silence. He scratched his bald head, then rubbed his light goatee.

It seemed Reno alone had assumed the position of speaker. He stood before Vincent, arms loosely folded across his chest, chin turned up to measure this tall, dark man.

No one spoke for another minute.

"Pretty impressive break-in skills you got there, pal," remarked Reno at last, "You didn't even set off the burglar alarm. And you sure picked a good spot to hide. I couldn't see you at all."

Vincent easily detected the note of mistrust in Reno's calm voice.  
Indeed, not only had he snuck into their secure apartment, but had also evaded notice. Nevertheless, he remained silent.

Reno merely scoffed outloud, a bit vexed but still retaining some good humor. For the moment, he ignored Vincent, and instead set about to restore some order to the room. He turned over the upset coffee table,  
heaped the magazines and ashtray on top. He finally picked up his nightstaff, where it was slipped back into his sleeve again. He seemed at total ease with this awkward situation.

Rude fidgeted in evident uneasiness. Elena nervously hugged her cat,  
glancing between the two men but saying nothing.

Vincent silently watched as Reno walked towards the kitchen. The man only disappeared a moment inside. When he emerged again, he had a cold can of beer in one hand, and a scornful smile on his lean face. He stood infront of Vincent as before.

"I'd love to ask you how you snuck in here," he began, "...more how the heck you managed to find us out, but instead, we'll skip all that and cut to the chase: what do you want?"

A most suspicious glare accompanied that blunt question. Reno narrowed his eyes so intently on Vincent, as if he could perhaps guess a reason.  
Vincent, however, did not answer.

"Company's dead, you guys won," Reno added, "What, are you guys going after all the employees too?"

"Far from it," replied Vincent calmly.

He took one firm step towards the centre of the room, where Reno stood in total defiance. Vincent glanced at the two friends in the background,  
then turned his full attention to the speaker.

"Ill-mannered as my entrance may be, I have only come to speak to you"  
he addressed in a cool, businesslike tone, "Rest assured, once I am finished, I will leave."

"Oh yeah? What's up?"

"It is a question, actually."

"So ask away."

The two men stood face to face, Reno so casually poised with an icy can of beer in hand, Vincent in perfect composure. Their gazes fixed on each other.

Five days had already passed, during which time Vincent had exhausted all efforts to find these former Turks. He had spared no query, no hidden information or possible whereabouts until at long last, he had uncovered the address. He hadn't, for obvious reasons, expected a friendly reception nor to win over their favor. He himself had found the task laborious and quite frustrating. In addition, his health, utterly ravaged after that miserable night, still hadn't recovered completely.

Yet these Turks were his last hope to finding her again. That thought alone had kept his determination so fiercely alive.

"I have received some information concerning a 'secret ShinRa laboratory' built by the company. It is supposedly somewhere here in Midgar," stated Vincent in a cool, clear voice, "I would like to ask if you perchance would know of such a lab?"

The direct question received a long, heavy silence, far too suspicious for Vincent to discount. He noted Rude fidget very uneasily, but turned his keen eyes back to Reno.

In return, Reno lingered at perfect ease, taking his time before granting a reply. He sipped his cold beer, then swept his fingers back through his pink hair. Both Rude and the anxious Elena gazed at their carefree friend, yet no one dared intervene.

A smile suddenly crossed Reno's lips, simply beaming with scornful cynicism. He cast one languid look at Vincent, then scoffed outloud again.

"Heh. Excuse me? A 'secret ShinRa lab'?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"Hmm...there WAS that big lab at the old ShinRa Headquarters, but it was..."

"I am not referring to the main lab in the ShinRa Headquarters"  
Vincent cut short tightly, "I am asking about a secret laboratory hidden somewhere within this city."

Reno merely took another sip from his beer.

"If you would happen to know it's location, then I ask you to kindly tell me."

At this dry conclusion, Vincent awaited in a patient silence. His cold tone had indicated he expected an answer.

All eyes rested on Reno. Rude fumbled about in his spot, far too discomforted by this entire situation. He continuously looked back at his carefree friend, as though he could perhaps transfer some invisible thoughts over to him. Elena huddled further behind her shelter. She too said nothing, but instead studied the guest from a safe distance.

At last, Reno began to carelessly swirl his beer can. His sly sea-green eyes gleamed back at Vincent in intent scrutiny.

"...and if there were such a lab, why do you wanna know about it?" he stalled.

Vincent paused a moment, then rebuffed coldly, "Pardon my bluntness,  
Sir, but my reasons do not concern you."

"Ah! So it's like that, huh?" Reno laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

Vincent narrowed his keen eyes straight on this man. He had come here with one question, and it would not be evaded.

"I am simply asking your help," he repeated tonelessly, "Please, tell me where to find this lab. Answer my question, and I will leave immediately."

Rude let out a soft uneasy cough. Nothing else interrupted.

At this request, Reno measured up Vincent bottom to top, from the tip of his heavy leather boots up to his stone-hard, crimson eyes. The crooked smile, so insolent with scorn, twisted his lips. After one loud gulp of beer, Reno ventured towards his stiff guest.

"Well, I only help people I'm sure about," he lazily admitted, peering so sharply back at Vincent, "Call it gut-instincts, maybe just plain suspicion, but I got a bad feeling 'bout you, pal."

Vincent made no reply.

"I mean, you just pop outta the woodwork, and ask us about some 'secret lab'? C'mon, get real!"

Still no reply. Reno halted directly infront of Vincent, where the mistrustful gleam in his eyes grew all the more sharper.

"Why'd you really come, hm?" he demanded, turning it into an interrogation, "That Cloud set you on us? You working for somebody else?  
Enough of this 'lab' crap. What're you really after here, Vamp-man?"

Vincent turned slightly away to escape the many questions. He would not be cross-examined.

"Mr. Strife has nothing to do with this, I assure you," he stated very clearly for everyone to hear.

Vincent gazed askance at Reno as he added, "..and as for what I am 'really after here', Sir, I have already said my reasons do not concern you."

An awkward silence followed. Reno glared at this curt evasion to his questions. Vincent returned the look with double the coldness, his crimson eyes a stern barrier of ice. Soon however, that same crooked smile lit up Reno's face, whereby he turned away with another derisive laugh.

"Ah well! So much for that then!" he dismissed Vincent, "You snuck in,  
I'm sure you can sneak your way back out."

In other words, he would not answer the question. To him, this "visit"  
had ended.

Reno swaggered away without looking back once. The break-off had left a noticeable silence in the room, one which poor Rude seemed to feel the most.

Vincent's morose face darkened as he watched this man drift so casually across the room. Indeed, Reno made this task neither pleasant nor easy.  
He behaved too suspiciously, always turning his questions around. And if he knew of this lab, he'd never speak. Yet Vincent had no alternative.  
One way or another, he must find the answer.

He plunged deep into his own thoughts for a moment, as if debating some grave matter. At last, Vincent spoke again.

"You'll find this quite hard to believe, but I think of all people, you three have the right to know."

All three turned their quizzical eyes to him. Reno carelessly stood with his back to Vincent, his head twisted around to the side. He lingered in wait.

"Rufus ShinRa may still be alive."

Though so simple, the statement had quite a noticeable effect on all present. Both Elena and Rude gave a surprised start at the most unexpected announcement. Even Reno had tensed in his spot on hearing the news. His sea-green eyes, ever so mistrustful, locked onto Vincent's solemn face. For a moment, no one could speak.

"Are...are you sure?" Rude faltered all of a sudden. He took one hesitant step forward.

"I can only guess this based on the information I have received"  
admitted Vincent, glancing briefly at the nervous man, "But I believe he too may have some connection with this 'secret lab'."

Rude's expression grew extremely grave. He asked no more.

The original question hung in the stiff air: did such a mysterious 'lab' in fact exist? If so, where? All eyes rested back on Reno. He seemed the only one who would determine the answer.

Reno slowly turned to face Vincent again.

"Fuh! You know, somebody must've pinned a sign saying 'I am stupid' on my back," he joked in cutting sarcasm, "You're now telling me Rufus ShinRa...THE Rufus ShinRa is still alive?"

Rather than affirm, Vincent gazed stoically back at this mistrustful man.

"And just how DUMB do you think I am, Vampy!" snapped Reno at once,  
propping one fist against his hip in real irritation, "In case you were unconscious all last year, Rufus ShinRa died in an explosion! Killed!  
Gone! Dead!"

Elena lingered behind, clutching her cat amidst this uncomfortable scene. Rude seemed to hesitate between interrupting and holding his tongue. He chose the latter.

"In all likelihood, yes. Rufus ShinRa is probably dead," agreed Vincent very composedly, "but, have you ever recovered his body?"

"'Body'? What 'body'! You think there was anything left after that blast? His body was blown to bits and buried under all the rubble!"

"Then did you uncover his remains?"

Reno scoffed to the side.

"Anything at all?"

A hateful scowl darkened Reno's whole face as he beheld Vincent, his voice so calm yet so persistent. He took one firm step forward to put this debate to a final rest.

"President Rufus ShinRa is dead," he insisted for everyone to hear, yet glared at Vincent alone, "Some WEAPON blasted him in his office. The fire burned him up, and the rubble crushed whatever remained.  
He-is-dead! So quit bullshitting us. You're not very good at it!"

Vincent said nothing.

"And as for your little question, Red-eyes, the answer is...NO!  
Wherever you got your 'information', it's all wrong. There is no 'secret lab' ShinRa Inc. ever made, not in Midgar, not anywhere else. The end!"

No one interrupted.

Reno angrily guzzled down the rest of his beer, then swung one finger towards the door, "Now get the hell outta here, before all three of us gang up on you and kick your butt clear down the stairs!"

Both Rude and Elena fumbled awkwardly in their spots. To be sure,  
neither of them wished to revert to violence (at least not against this guest).

Nevertheless, Vincent remained unruffled by the violent threat or boisterous voice. Instead, he gazed back at Reno, ruby-red eyes narrowed down so piercingly; he seemed to have spotted some hidden secret behind that angry look.

Reno found himself put on full guard against such a strange gaze. He instantly turned away to show he had no more to say: the answer to the question was no.

The stiff silence lingered another moment.

"I see. Then, I thank you for your time," concluded Vincent at last. He too had nothing more to say.

And with that dry gratitude, he made his way to the door.

"Miss, I apologize for the intrusion. It will not happen again"  
Vincent paused to bow politely to Elena, then resumed his way as before.  
He never looked back.

Everyone watched him leave, Reno in particular disdain. Vincent's footsteps died down the dark corridor. They heard the front door gently closed behind, and all was silent again. He had left.

They stood in their spots, overwhelmed for a moment by what had just transpired.

"...damn freak! Gives me the willies!" spat Reno after the departed guest. He hadn't liked that peculiar look in his eyes at all.

"Actually, he was so polite!" marveled Elena after Vincent, enchanted by that gallant bow. She had forgotten she had flung a vase at him,  
"...and now that I notice it, he's kinda cute! In a gloomy sort of way..a bit too pale, but still..."

Luckily, she spotted Reno glare so hard at her, which effectively cut short any further admiration.

"Uh..oh yeah! I'd better order those ramen noodles," she suddenly remembered. Elena placed Simon back on his dainty feet, then hurried into the kitchen, "I'll clean up that broken vase later. Don't let Simon go near it or he'll cut himself."

The two men remained in the living room, the resentment still evident on Reno's lean face. Rude lingered near him in an uneasy silence. His tense brown eyes were fixed on his vexed friend.

"That stupid chalk-faced weirdo," growled Reno as he tried to appease his distemper, "...should've just chucked him off the balcony."

Rude hesitated a moment.

"...Reno, why'd you lie to him?" he muttered gently all of a sudden.

Reno paused at the meaningful question. He cast a long pensive look down to the side, far away from Rude. His scowl changed to a grave frown as he pondered some troublesome thought.

Suddenly, Reno broke away from this dismal atmosphere.

"Ah, everyone's been pissing me off today," he complained rather cheerfully, "Hey! I know what'll restore my good mood: T.V!"

The previous unpleasantness was abandoned to the new suggestion. With a good-humored "C'mon!", Reno bounced over into the couch. On finding the remote, he flicked through the many channels until he settled on some comedy show. Reno relaxed back into the comfy couch.

The cat gracefully hopped onto the arm of the couch, where it curled into a furry ball for another nap. Rude lingered in his spot. He glanced towards where Vincent had just left, then moved over to the couch. He silently sat by Reno.

They watched T.V. for a while. Reno seemed immensely amused by the funny show. He laughed without a single care in the world. Rude, on the other hand, never spoke. An entirely different matter occupied his pensive mind.

It didn't take Reno too long to notice his friend's glum mood. He glanced askance at him.

"What's with you, Rude?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh..uh...n-nothing," Rude instantly replied. He watched the T.V,  
pretending to find it quite interesting.

Reno, however, narrowed his sharp eyes. He saw straight through that feeble attempt. Therefore, with one click, he turned off the television.

"Okay, Rude. I know that kinda silence only too well," Reno cut to the point, " Something's bugging you and I wanna know what."

The man, discomforted by this blunt confrontation, fidgeted in his spot. He cast his eyes down to his lap.

"C'mon! Spit it out!"

"It's just..I was thinking about what that guy...Vincent..said"

Reno paused before asking curtly, "Rude, did you believe him?"

Silence.

"YOU DID!"

Rude fumbled to organize his thoughts into some order.

"Ah, fer God's sake, Rude!" declared Reno vexedly, "I swear, if some crack-pot told you the moon's made of ice-cream, you'd ask 'What flavor?'. I can't believe he actually got to you!"

"It's just that, he had a point," Rude agreed, "President Rufus's body was never recovered from the blast site, not even his remains."

Reno frowned.

"We were told he had died in that blast, and accepted it. But that was only assumed. No one could say for sure unless..."

But he stopped short when Reno expelled one annoyed sigh through his nose, then glared straight at him. This tired argument had lasted long enough.

"Okay! Re-cap time!" Reno exclaimed in resentful sarcasm.

He suddenly grabbed hold of his empty beer can, and propped it on the table for Rude to see.

"This is the ShinRa Headquarters. Here is little President Rufus in his cozy office on the 70th floor," Reno tapped the top of the can to indicate the office, "In comes a mega-sized blast that not only destroys the entire office, but also tears havoc through the floors below. Now,  
YOU tell ME, (simple mathematics here), what chance had Rufus of surviving?"

Rude only fidgeted at the question.

"Oh, about one in a gazillion chance!" Reno answered himself. He crushed up the can, then flung it over to the thrash basket, "Hmm.  
yeah! I'd say he's pretty much dead, just like his old man!"

Poor Rude glanced uneasily at his vexed friend, then looked down again.  
He hesitated to speak.

"I don't know or care what that freak hoped to find outta coming here"  
scoffed Reno with a sweep back through his hair, "But that Rufus bit isn't gonna work on me! He could just mosey back to ol' Cloud and tell him that!"

"..I.."

"What?"

"I..don't think he's with Cloud."

Reno listened in silence.

"I'd think this guy would never speak unless he had something important to say. He doesn't look the type that just blabs for show," Rude debated softly, peering at his suspicious friend. His voice sounded very steady,  
almost stern, "And Reno, I don't think he'd have bothered looking for us unless he really needed to. He said...the President could still be alive, and could have some connection with the ShinRa secret lab. Isn't there also a chance he could be actually telling the truth?"

"Bullshit!" Reno snapped back at once, "Hey, I'm not buying this 'Rufus is still alive' crap, not for one minute! He'd dead!"

Rude kept his deep brown eyes fixed on this distempered man. He said nothing.

"And besides," Reno added sourly, "Even IF Rufus were somehow still alive, what do I care! Sure, we were loyal to him. Sure, there was a time I would've given my life to protect him. But it's like I said,  
Rude, that's all gone. He's not our boss anymore. We don't have any obligations to him. So just drop the subject already!"

They did not speak again. Out of respect for his friend's wish, Rude looked away to show he'd say no more. Reno returned to the T.V. He leaned back, and watched the show.

Yet, unlike before, he never laughed, not even cracked a smile. Indeed,  
when Rude happened to glance at Reno again, he found his friend engrossed in some deep contemplation. His mind had strayed elsewhere.

-End of Chp.49

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	47. Chapter 50

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.50 

She sat there huddled up in one bleak corner, cold, frightened, and all alone. Around her loomed the darkness, an endless void to which she found herself its sole prisoner. She had been swallowed by the abyss. Night had selfishly drawn her back into its horrible black wings, and would never release her again.

Time had long lost its meaning. Hours or days, she could not tell the difference anymore. They simply slipped by unnoticed.

A gentle but bitter-cold breeze always blew through this dungeon. It loved to caress her body, to feel her weak limbs shiver so pitifully. A sickly dankness suffocated the air to the brink of nausea. Cruel silence oppressed her to total stillness. Sometimes, the stiff steel walls let out a creek, or the quick skitter of rats echoed across the stone floor. But instantly, the sounds disappeared back into the same dull silence.

Aeris was prisoner here, yet the nightmare was not new. She had lived it many times before.

There had been pain too, well beyond anything else she had ever tasted. So brutal, it always left her voiceless, totally crushed under its claw.  
Her entire body ached non-stop. The hungry agony savored the taste of her delicious, slender limbs.

Aeris was prisoner here, yet the torture was not new either. She had lived it many, many times before, far too many to count.

She hardly had any recollection of the surroundings or events around her; only flashes of blurry pictures, muffled sounds, or odd sensations, all rolled into one hazy moment of consciousness.

She somewhat remembered feeling her coat and sweater literally torn off. She vaguely recalled huge black figures, all strangers, drag her away somewhere against her will. They handled her so roughly; their brash voices sounded pure nonsense to her numb ears. Everything plunged into darkness afterwards. Whenever she woke up again, she found herself flung back in her black hole, so utterly broken on the cold floor.

Aeris had no memory of what happened during the actual torture, only the devastating, savage pain it left behind. In her cloudy mind, she had seen a blue computer screen type out some hazy jargon. She had seen blood-filled test tubes. Sometimes, there was this strange feeling of hanging in limbo, like her whole body had been immersed into some thick liquid. She remembered screams. The horrible shrieks and tearful cries always re-echoed through her ears. She guessed they were hers.

She could only recall the dreaded operation table once: she had been stripped naked first. Her bare body had been spread flat over an icy-cold table top, with a bright light and ominous machinery hovering overhead.  
She had felt hands, grubby yet so nimble, fiddle along her body,  
stuffing sharp needles into her skin. Bleeping sounds had droned into her ears,  
that and faint hissing. Only once, she remembered opening her eyes. A brilliant pair of yellow eyes, ablaze with vicious insanity, had glared back at her.

That must have been the Professor. Aeris did not know. When she woke up again, she found herself in the dungeon, all her clothes carelessly flung back on her. She never recalled more than that.

The girl guessed she had resisted this nightmare at first. She had probably screamed for help, struggled madly, or begged for pity. If that had ever happened, she assumed someone had struck her unconscious or drugged her. Indeed, either her head throbbed in dull pain, or she felt nauseous.

But now, she doubted whether she resisted anymore. The torture never ended, it only grew worse each time. Aeris always found herself sprawled on the cold floor again. She felt too weak, too helpless. Yes, she had probably succumbed to the nightmare and torture long ago. There seemed no use resisting it.

The horror saw no end. The girl found no place to hide, no succor in the darkness. Some invisible, evil force hovered around her, watching her,  
laughing at her.

So she sat huddled up in one bleak, filthy corner. She simply waited for whatever may come next.

Nothing new. She had lived it all before. But she always found herself broken, frightened, lost, and so alone. Every torture felt like the very first time.

Sometimes, while overwhelmed by wretched misery, her troubled mind unconsciously drifted back to another world. Faces floated by, their voices too faint to understand. She wandered through many places, marveling at each tiny detail. It all seemed such a strange dream world now, ages old,  
one she hardly recognized anymore.

Had she really hoped to escape to there?

As Aeris sailed away through this dream, she wondered at these strange sensations tingling her cold, pitiful body:...kind warmth.. unlike anything ever felt before... shelter from night and fear...

..safety...total safety from all harm...

At that moment, Aeris caught herself lingering over one particular face; one face she associated all these strange words with. It seemed so dear to her, so much her cold fingertips ached to touch it again. But instantly,  
she shoved that face far away. It always aroused such a violent turmoil in her heart. It always choked her, made her eyes swell with so many hot tears. Indeed, she found the pain in her body far more tolerable than that inside her heart.

She struggled to not think of him. It hurt her too much, his name almost on her lips, her aching heart ready to burst with such inconsolable grief. Yet all in vain; her mind always clung to that same face. In final desperation, Aeris tried to stop thinking altogether.

The cruel question prickled her torn mind: why had she escaped in the first place? She belonged here...in this bleak hell called "the Laboratory". What had ever convinced her otherwise? Had she really hoped to escape to there... to that strange dream world far, far away?

The Professor would never release her, not when he could enjoy her on an operation table instead. She meant too much to him; his darling little specimen. What had made her believe she could ever escape him? There was no safety anywhere. He'd torture her to madness in her nightmares. His ghost would forever haunt her. And at last, he'd send his best hound dog after her, never to return until it had retrieved her.

Another face appeared, filling her whole being with bitter hatred but equal terror. The dreaded "hound dog" had white hair and pink eyes. A demon in a trench coat, smiling so viciously back at her. He had stopped at nothing to capture her. He had torn her away from her only shelter, and cast her back into this horrible nightmare. To her, this "Professor"  
seemed an ominous presence with Davoren for a body.

And where lay everything now? All burnt to ash. Her warm shelter, her peaceful safety, all trampled to the ground. The demon had wrenched her out of those protective arms, into another that felt so cold, so unfamiliar.

Aeris remembered that moment so vividly: when she heard the loud bang of the gun, then witnessed Vincent crash to the ground. He had lain so helplessly sprawled on the tracks, gasping, writhing in such pain. She could still see the ruthless gunman standing over his victim. She saw him triumphantly reach for the trigger.

She wanted to scream "stop!"

In her tormented mind, Aeris had repeated the scene at least a dozen times. How often she cowered in the darkness, languishing over that one scene. Everytime, she wanted to stop the madness: clutch the gunman's coat and beg for mercy; embrace Vincent to protect him from any more harm;  
anything, anything but lose him.

But in the end, Aeris always crumbled back to the same desperate conclusion: What did it matter now? Vincent was dead.

Dead. The word crushed her. It rang through her ears each time she remembered him lying there on the iron tracks.

Vincent was dead...dead...

Again, Aeris desperately shut out all thoughts and emotions. She did not want to think. It drove her mad. It hurt her too much. Many times, she had burst out crying until unconsciousness took over. She did not want to think! She did not want to think!

Yet the poor girl never succeeded. Everytime she remembered Vincent's face, the nightmare grew darker, colder, and more frightening. And this time, she found no warm arms to shield her away, or any soft voice to lull her to sleep.

Vincent was dead.

-End of Chp.50

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	48. Chapter 51

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.51 

Aeris sat huddled up in one corner of the black dungeon, both slender legs drawn up with arms folded across her knees. Her entire body shivered against the icy steel wall. Her weary head rested in both arms, while her loose hair flowed in thick long curls behind her back and over her shoulder. Complete loneliness isolated her.

She guessed she had sat thus for three, maybe four hours. On waking up,  
she had found herself (as always) flung against the stone ground, with a cold bowl of slop placed nearby. Most probably, the Professor had decided to grant her some respite before another round of torture. Therefore,  
she had crawled back to her usual corner, huddled up, and did not move since then. She never touched the food.

The wretched girl only awaited more torture. The silence around her endured for a long time. She seemed to have sat there an eternity,  
feeling bleak despair grind her soul to dust. Many times, she had wished herself dead.

Suddenly, a loud "click" broke into the silence. The dungeon door had been unlocked.

The stiff door budged a tiny crack, then opened with a hideous,  
long-drawn creek. Aeris hardly stirred at this rude disturbance. She remained huddled up so piteously in the corner, as if unaware of any intrusion. She discerned two men conversing at the doorway, but the dull pain clogged her ears so badly, the miserable girl could barely understand their words.

"It's too dark in here," commented one man, his calm voice sounding very muffled, "Isn't there a light or something?"

"Sorry Sir," apologized the other respectfully, "But there's barely any electricity in the entire place. The main generator's pretty much busted up...something wrong with the connection cables or step-up transformers...nothing we can do 'bout it."

"So I'm stuck with this candle, hm? How primitive. Very well. You wait outside until I am finished."

One voice mumbled some respectful consent, then the heavy dungeon door slammed shut again. The stiff silence returned.

At first, Aeris believed the two mysterious strangers had left. But soon, she vaguely sensed someone venture through the room, the scuffles of his shoes against the stone ground. Apparently, one of the men had entered her dungeon.

The footsteps grew closer until they stopped abruptly by her side. Yet the poor girl remained in her same pitiful position, head bowed and legs drawn up. She sensed the visitor crouch down in his spot, probably to inspect her.

Aeris wondered who it could be.

"So there you are, sweetheart!" greeted a friendly voice at last, "Good heavens, it's so dark, even I couldn't see you there. How are you?"

The voice so near sounded somewhat familiar. On pulling up her weary head, Aeris found herself momentarily dazzled by a warm, bright light. She moaned out a weak "ah". Her hand instantly twitched up to block this pain from her bleary eyes.

In the light, one could easily trace the torture marks on this poor girl. The lovely rosiness of her cheeks had been drained. Her pallid, haggard face, disheveled hair, and vacant eyes all showed her pathetic state.  
Aeris had grown quite frail, on the very brink of a feverish illness.  
Sore bruises marked her limbs. Mud and murky water dirtied her clothes and shoes.

Indeed, the vicious Professor had totally crushed her to the same miserable, frightened creature she had been before.

Aeris strained her eyes through the light to meet this stranger's face. A hazy blur at first, the feature's gradually sharpened until she beheld a man's face: he had squatted down by her side, at the same time holding a lighted candlestick up to her face. The warm, orange light lit up his handsome face, making his happy smile appear all the more affable. He wore a heavy black trench coat over his suit. The man had such incredible white hair, loose strands dangling before his gleaming pink eyes.

It took Aeris only a moment to recognize Davoren.

The pitiful girl blinked back in bewilderment, as if he had materialized out of thin air. Indeed, she could not remember seeing him since that miserable night.

But the confusion only lasted another moment. In an instant, both terror and intense hatred flared up inside. Aeris immediately cringed further into her black corner. She rested her chin down against her crossed arms, yet kept her tense eyes obstinately fixed straight ahead. She would not look at this loathsome gunman.

"Tsk! You shouldn't be sitting on the floor. You could catch pneumonia," remarked Davoren. He indicated s stiff pile of wooden boxes, all heaped into another corner, "There're some dry old storage boxes over there.  
You can sit on them if you like..."

Aeris did not speak, nor would she even grace him with a brief glance.  
Her huddled up appearance, though still wretched, also expressed extreme aloofness.

The good-humored Davoren, nevertheless, kept his amicable smile. When the kind suggestion passed by unanswered, he stood up again, and walked over to the mentioned pile. He returned with one large wooden box for himself.  
He noisily propped it near Aeris, sat on top, then placed the candlestick by his side. Both gloved hands hung in his lap, his back slumped forward at total ease.

The silence endured another minute.

"I trust you're comfortable enough with your new accommodations," began Davoren again, "It's not like that dirty hovel you used to live in. See,  
we've moved out of that old dump to another laboratory..well, actually,  
it's a laboratory hidden within an old Mako Reactor."

He hoped the news might have some effect on Aeris. On the contrary, her cold face from the side showed not the slightest response.

"The laboratory itself is pretty advanced, but the whole place is so run down," he chatted on, "These Reactors sure crumble fast once they stop maintaining them: no heat, rats everywhere, and practically no electricity. We have to use those special generators just to get the essential lab equipment running."

Davoren paused as he peeked at Aeris again. The girl sat oblivious to all his friendly words. Never did she pull her eyes from the stubborn focus.

The weak candle light flickered in the gentle breeze. Darkness loomed about this lonely spot, just waiting to swallow all it contained,  
firstly that feeble light. The whole dungeon reeked of sickly dankness and bitter cold.

Davoren waited moment before pulling out a cigarette from its packet.  
He stuck it between his lips, then flicked on his lighter.

"Mind if I smoke here?" he asked politely.

Aeris made no response.

The gunman interpreted her silence as consent, whereby he lit his cigarette at once. He enjoyed a few easy puffs, then returned to this obstinate girl. He obviously wanted some response.

"I should tell you, the old Professor was just ecstatic when I brought you back," Davoren recounted in good-humor, "The very first hour he got you, he began laughing like crazy, then started up work right away. He must've spent at least three days non-stop on you alone. He's in a bit of a rush. After all, your little escape cost him a month's worth of work."

She ignored him.

Davoren muttered sourly to the side, "He was pretty pissed off when I told him about Valentine though...feh! There's no pleasing that old grouch. Well, he let me live, so I guess it's not too bad."

Still no answer.

"Anyway, I'm just here to check on you...make sure you're cozy 'n comfy," he announced cheerfully, "One of my chief responsibilities is keeping the Professor's specimen's alive."

At this noble concern, Aeris shrunk further into the corner, turning her head away in such cold resentment. Neither his pleasantry nor his amicable smile could ever win an ounce of her favor.

The gunman waited, cigarette in hand. He rubbed his chin a moment, then scanned the bleak room for an object of interest. The untouched bowl of food instantly caught his eye, whereby he picked it up from the floor.  
He stirred the brown grainy slop twice with the rusted spoon.

"You should try to eat a bit more, honey," Davoren scolded in gentle disapproval, "I know it's just bland oat mash, but even a few spoonfuls would do you good."

The gunman propped the cold bowl back on the ground. He remained slumped forward, elbows as support, legs slightly parted. His keen eyes fixed on Aeris.

"Do the men here treat you properly? No...'ungentlemanly conduct'?" he inquired very meaningfully.

The wretched girl only hugged her legs more tightly against her bosom.  
Her face remained turned away to the wall.

"If you like, I can have them keep a candle here...have a bit of light for a change. Would you like that?"

The girl gave no reply.

"You're not very talkative today," he remarked.

Still no reply.

Davoren was silent.

All his kind offers and cares had been spurned. The heavy stillness felt too awkward, what with Davoren apparently chatting to himself, now no one talking at all. There seemed nothing more to say; every attempt to break through this cold treatment had failed.

His smile faded to a cool, stoic expression of defeat. The callous gunman puffed his cigarette again without looking at the girl, as if waiting for something else to break this ice.

Aeris remained huddled up, scornfully avoidant of his face. She persisted to stare at the wall.

For a full three minutes, no one spoke. Absolute silence stared between the odd pair, one seated so comfortably on the wooden box, the other degraded to misery on the ground.

"...you killed him," Aeris whispered suddenly.

Davoren glanced askance at her, cigarette held up to his lips. Of course, he knew exactly whom she meant.

"..you...killed him..m-murdered him in cold-blood," the pathetic girl whimpered out, "You didn't even fight fair. How could you...how could anyone be so cruel?"

Poor, distraught Aeris buried her sorrow back into her arms. Her weak voice began to quiver.

"I hate you!" she sobbed bitterly, "I'll never, ever forgive you! You killed him! Murderer!"

The accusation, so pathetically presented, stood bare in the gunman's face. But he hardly appeared bothered. Instead, Davoren smoked on in perfect composure. He did not look at her.

A painful surge of emotions wrangled Aeris' broken heart, reducing her to more hot tears. She looked the epitome of misery.

Davoren listened to this outpour of anguish without interruption. The pitiful scene endured another minute.

"You don't actually believe he's dead, do you?" he asked at length.

Aeris froze at the question. Apparently, it had never once occurred to her Vincent could have somehow survived.

"I spent twenty minutes checking around, but never found his body," the gunman continued as coolly, "At first, I thought maybe the train had swept him away. But then, the wheels would've torn him up, and I'd have found his body parts. I found nothing...not one trace..."

The girl slowly lifted her head from her arms, then twisted her head around to the gunman. She did not speak.

Davoren exhaled another hazy puff of smoke without looking at her. His calm voice, far from playful, sounded dead serious, "Besides, didn't you hear what he said? He said he'd never let anyone take you away. Even if he was killed, even if he had to crawl back through the Gates of Hell, he won't let it happen."

She remembered those brave words, so fervently declared with his last strength. In her mind, she could see Vincent standing there, tall,  
ravaged, crimson eyes fiercely resolute. But he had been shot, and the gunman had...then the train...how could he possibly have...

"He's alive, I know it," Davoren broke into her thoughts at once. He smiled so smugly at his pleasant cigarette, "And I also know he'll come for you; just give him time. Take my word as his ex-best buddy. Valentine would never make vow unless he fully intended to keep it."

Confidence in its surest form. He sat slumped forward with marked ease,  
puffing at his cigarette while staring into the empty distance. Through the white smoke, he seemed almost able to visualize his prophecy.

Aeris knew not what to make of this news. She reflected a long moment upon herself: rejoice! Not only could Vincent be alive, but perhaps he'd come rescue her from this nightmare. Hope still glimmered after all. She should smile, it not at least be comforted.

But no. Instead, a most pained expression overshadowed her whole face,  
casting her heart into deeper despair. She drew her sight to the far side.

"...if he's really alive, then I hope he'll never come for me," the wretched girl muttered sadly.

"Now THERE'S a surprise!" exclaimed Davoren, turning his head to her,  
"I thought you'd be happy!"

"..no..."

The gunman studied her quite keenly.

Intense sorrow gently sealed her eyes shut, at the same time squeezing out such a heavy sigh out of her bosom.

"If he comes, you'll trap him again...rip him apart, then shed his blood just...just like that night," she paused, overwhelmed by her own torn emotions, then whispered out more miserably, "..I don't want him to come here...not to die...I don't want to see him die all over again..."

Another silence befell the dungeon. The gunman, ever the sharp observer, beheld this pathetic girl in the feeble candle light.

A cunning smile gradually crossed his lips.

"...do you love Vincent?" he asked all of a sudden.

The unexpected question startled Aeris, as though he had just revealed her deepest secret. She instantly turned to the man, much confused by his bluntness.

"Oh, c'mon! Not like you ever try to hide it!" Davoren laughed light-heartedly at her reaction, "It's in everything you do! You nearly surrendered yourself in exchange for his life, and broke out into hysterics when I shot him, remember?"

Aeris felt her cheeks grow uncomfortably hot under his meaningful scrutiny. Thus cornered by all these sly observations, she huddled back against the cold wall, half her face buried in her crossed arms. She gazed down at her dirty boots, but said nothing.

"Yes, you are in love with him. Your silence only proves it," Davoren assured again.

She didn't argue, which caused the gunman to smile all the more cunningly at himself. He took another easy puff from his cigarette, then dispersed the white smoke with one elegant wave of the hand. He still sat bent over the wooden box, elbows as support against his knees. He gazed thoughtfully into the dark void ahead.

"I watched you two on the bridge...the way he hugged you while you cried your eyes out, "Davoren observed in a voice far too sly, "Just from the way he held you, one could tell you meant a great deal to him. And then..that vow. There was something in his eyes...real anger, maybe hatred when he said he'd never let you be taken. His reasons for protecting you go well beyond simple duty, or so it seems to me. I'd say he also has very...strong feelings for you. Dare I say...love?"

Aeris was silent. On glancing askance, she found Davoren's pink eyes fixed on her in keen curiosity. The smile remained on his face, adding a cunning intelligence to his appearance. He seemed to have uncovered all secrets (or so he claimed).

Soon, however, she tore her cold sight back down to her boots. A spiteful glow sparked in her green eyes.

"...you're so stupid," she remarked softly but quite scornfully.

Not at all insulted, the cool gunman asked, "In what way do you find me stupid?"

"You think Vincent actually loves me."

"Well, why else would he come for you if he didn't?" he chuckled like a parent amused by a silly child.

Aeris hesitated a long time.

"...if he comes, it won't be for me. It will be for her...Lucrecia.."

She re-buried half her face back into her arms, as if crushed by her own words. Huddled there so cold and alone, she found her heart struggling against a whirlpool of painful, most strange emotions. She shut her eyes to block them out.

"...you're so stupid to think Vincent would come all this way and risk his life for me," the girl sighed tragically, more to herself, "He doesn't want or love me at all, he loves Lucrecia. He loves her..so much..he.."

Her sad voice trailed off into another long, reclusive silence. She wondered at these strange new emotions tumbling inside, more at herself for confiding them to the gunman (of all people).

Her mind unconsciously reached back to another night long ago, that night when delirium had robbed Vincent's sanity blind. His raving words floated back to her, in particular one sentence he had shouted clear in her face for her to hear. So short, yet so cutting.

A strange pang of pain stabbed her heart when she finally remembered that sentence: "It's Lucrecia, not you! Not you!"

Indeed, how many times during his mad fever had she heard him desperately rave out that one name? If he sat by himself, gazing so gloomily into empty space, couldn't she for once guess who occupied his mind? Lucrecia. A ghost who held him in thrall; an invisible presence only he somehow felt.  
Everytime Aeris looked at him, there was Lucrecia...

"And do you hate Lucrecia for that?" Davoren suddenly cut into her contemplation.

Aeris gave a start at the intrusion. She immediately darted her shocked eyes to the man. He still sat bent over, smoking so coolly while smiling back at her. Not only had he seemingly read her mind, but had also tried to identify that strange emotion.

Aeris listened in silence. For some reason, a dreadful fear seized her by the roots as she gazed into his startling pink eyes.

"It must hurt to be standing there all alone with your heart in your hand, while he's still pining for a woman who (heaven knows) has been dead for thirty-one years," the gunman noted calmly, "I know he was madly in love with her. It wasted him away and made him miserable, but he still held onto her. That kind of love doesn't feel time. It never fades, no matter what happens. Do you hate Lucrecia for having all his love, while you have none?"

Whether his question was in jest or earnest, Davoren peered so intently at the girl as he smoked his cigarette. Aeris' blood ran cold. His cool voice, sharp gaze, all seemed to pierce deep into her soul, to somewhere she herself had never consciously wandered.

But subconsciously, in the darkest depths of her heart, is that how she felt about Vincent's beloved Lucrecia? Hatred? More than resentment, did she actually hate that woman for having all his love, while she had none?

Suddenly, Aeris cut off these thoughts. She felt immense disgust at Davoren's words, twice at herself for entertaining them.

"That's terrible!" she instantly cried out in a passion. Her eyes glared so hatefully at him, "For you say...for me to hate a woman I don't know or even seen... and who has suffered in her own life, probably far more than me...for me to hate her...no! That's simply terrible!"

Her angry outburst amused him, or perhaps he found her incensed face too charming, especially her green eyes and loose flowing hair. In any case,  
Davoren cast his sight back down to his own feet, and took another smoke from his cigarette.

"Once, I tried to kill her," he recounted.

Aeris stared dumbstruck with horror.

"Oh, Vincent never told you why he shot me, hm?" Davoren chuckled,  
even though he didn't look at her. His voice lingered between vicious mockery and bitter sadness, "It was because I tried to kill Lucrecia...no, not kill. 'Kill' is too fast, too simple. That night, I wanted to murder her... just riddle her top to bottom in bullets...spill her blood all over the orchard..."

A most evil smile curled his lips, making his face from the side appear so sinister, perhaps even a touch of insanity. He seemed to stare down into an abyss only visible to his brilliant eyes.

"But Vincent shot me before I could shoot her...one clean bullet in the head, then all goes black. Strange, I never once wanted revenge on him.  
I don't care. Life...death..it's all the same to me. I guess I just.  
enjoy it for some reason...the sight of blood. Fresh blood flowing out, even better when it washes my hands...that's the only way I know I'm still alive..."

The terror-stricken Aeris listened to this deranged reverie, herself growing frightened and angry at the same time: could this stone-hearted madman be the same Davoren Vincent had praised at the Snow Fields?  
Vincent had spoken so reverently of his dear old friend, calling him a "very,  
very good man", one who miraculously kept his soul alive, despite all the crimes...despite all the bloodshed...

Yet how could compassion thus turn to sadism? Could one simply cast off his humanity, and twist into this form, like the gunman had?

"You're a monster," Aeris accused in a harsh whisper.

Davoren seemed to find the word quite strange. He looked askance at her.

"A 'monster'?" he echoed coldly.

"Yes!" she cried aloud, "You murder people! You shed their blood! You love to watch helpless people suffer, and laugh when you do evil things!  
It's impossible! You could never have a been a human being! You're just a horrible monster! A monster!"

He looked down at his feet again.

"Vincent's a monster too," he argued calmly.

"No he's not! Vincent's not a heartless animal like you! He doesn't enjoy bloodshed and murder or.."

"My dear, it doesn't matter whether he enjoys it or not. He's still done the same things I've done. We're both the same breed...the exact same animal."

"No! No! You're wrong!" she shouted in tearful despair, so overwhelmed by his unnatural tone, "Vincent would NEVER do any of the horrible things you do! It's YOU who's the monster! You alone!"

A heavy silence followed.

Aeris glared at him, half her heart cold with fear, the other half seething with hatred. She loathed him beyond any possible description.

The argument had apparently irritated the gunman too, most probably her bitter stubbornness. He breathed out a final puff of smoke through his nose, at the same time giving her such a sharp look, unlike anything she'd ever seen.

Davoren flicked the cigarette butt away, then stood up. Much to Aeris'  
wild alarm, the gunman walked towards her, as if he'd murder her next.

"Ah! G-get away from me!" she cried at once. She scrambled up to her feet, then glued her whole back against the wall, "Don't come any closer! No, get away!"

Davoren did not. Instead, he stopped directly infront of her, hands loose by his side, pink eyes narrowed down on her alone. He did not speak.

His presence so close, less than a step away, reduced poor Aeris to a frightened silence. She pressed back against the icy wall, tense eyes lowered for fear of meeting his terrible face. Her whole body trembled in Davoren's tall shadow. Indeed, his height was quite impressive, more so measured against hers.

They stood thus for full minute. Neither spoke or moved. The air grew stiff under the heavy stillness. Darkness edged closer to the meek candle light.

"Tell me, what makes a man a monster?" asked Davoren dryly, almost like a challenge.

The question struck Aeris as so strange, she immediately shot her sight up to him. A deep solemnity marked his face.

"I'm the horrible fiend that spreads all evil...the villain.. the devil," Davoren remarked in ice-cold composure, "And Vincent, he's the good human being...the hero...your beloved guardian angel. What makes us so different from each other?"

Aeris stared back, perplexed by those mysterious words. His tone, too detached to be natural, frightened her. There wasn't a trace of that playfulness in it.

Suddenly, one gentle whiff of wind whisked all light away to oblivion.  
The dank dungeon plunged back to its formal state: a pitch-black void of endless shadows.

Aeris found herself transfixed by a bright pair of pink eyes, gazing so ominously down on her. In this stuffy darkness, she could not even distinguish the outline of Davoren's body, let alone his face; only eyes.

Under such keen scrutiny, a violent bout of shivering seized the girl.  
She felt trapped, helpless.

Her ordeal suddenly worsened. Aeris gave a most horrified start when she felt the gunman take her hand. The touch, though quite warm, aroused such revulsion in her anguished heart. Davoren nevertheless pulled up her trembling hand, and pressed it against his left cheek.

"See for yourself. He and I, we're both made of flesh and bone, both covered with skin," he ran her delicate fingertips along his face, the forehead down the side, "We both look human, have our little 'abnormalities'. We're both criminals with blood on our hands, and a long string of crimes tagging behind. So why? Why call me a monster, and insist he's not one too?"

"..he...Vincent is not a monster..," Aeris heard herself deny weakly.  
She could say no more.

Another deathly silence followed.

He released her hand at last. Aeris instantly clenched it hard against her bosom. His unbearable gaze seemed to pierce more sternly into her now:  
she still clung to her obstinate belief.

Davoren spoke again, this time his voice rigidly cold, "Vincent has killed people just because they disagreed with his boss. It was so easy: there was the target. Simply aim the gun, and shoot. He has spied for his company,  
threatened dissenters, kidnapped and interrogated opposers, all to please his superiors."

Aeris froze solid as she felt the man place his hand against the wall,  
right by her head. He stooped towards her, thus bringing his brilliant eyes so close to peer into hers.

"My dear, that man you love...the one you call 'human' was one of the company's finest Turks...ShinRa's little demons who dress in slick suits. He had never once...not ONCE stopped at anything to obey orders, even if it had meant killing...no, murdering an innocent, little child."

She still stared into those solemn eyes. His tone, so strange, seemed to drill into her very consciousness without pity.

"You only see us from one view: your selfish view," the gunman accused,  
his cool voice not above a hushed murmur, "Vincent protects you from danger. He hugs you when you cry. And for that, you disregard all his crimes, and call him 'human'. I'm the one who tries to return you to the Professor. And for that, you throw all my crimes in my face, and scream 'monster'."

She said nothing.

"So in your eyes, is that all that separates men from monsters? Petty kindness? If I were to right now become...'kind' to you alone, would I suddenly become human too?"

"...no..," Aeris faltered. Her frantic heartbeat drowned her ears.

"Then what?" whispered Davoren so softly, "If crimes and bloodshed don't make a monster, and kindness alone won't make a human, then what it?"

Her tense eyes, already brimming with tears, begged him to leave. Her frail body ached in distress.

"..I don't know...I...," Aeris forced out, "...Vincent's done his share of crimes too...he's shed blood like you and done so many evil things...he told me himself...but.."

"But...?"

"..inside...there's something inside of him that makes him so different from you...underneath it all, there's something else..."

She suddenly remembered those beautiful snow fields.

"And what's 'inside' that makes him so different from me?" Davoren asked.

The riddle baffled her to confusion. For a long minute, their gazes interlocked without either flinching a single muscle. A deep curiosity lit up the man's eyes, cold yet quite solemn. He seemed to expect an answer.

But Aeris could not bear this torment any longer. She crumbled.

"Damn you! You've returned me to the Professor, what more do you want!" she sobbed out in redoubled misery, "You've seen me cry and suffer, what else do you want to see? Did you just come here to torture me more!"

The broken-hearted girl struggled against a fresh surge of tears,  
shivering between the cold air and her own fears. Davoren beheld her until slowly, his eyes softened.

"Of course not. I came here to check on you," he reassured gently,  
almost kindly.

He withdrew one step away, leaving the girl in a pitiful state of anguish. As Aeris stared back through her tears, he heard Davoren grope at his sidepocket for something.

With one soft "click", a feeble light emerged again. Davoren had flicked on his cigarette lighter.

They stood face to face in total silence. Davoren's gloved hand had cupped over the weak flame to protect it from the cold breeze. His handsome face, only high-lighted to grey shadow, maintained the same solemn visage. His cool eyes gazed down on the mute girl, meditating over the details of her beautiful face.

Aeris wondered at that peculiar gleam in his eyes. If she did not know better, she'd have sworn there was...pain...

Suddenly, a loud bleeping sound interrupted the scene.

The gunman mechanically thrust his free hand into his pocket, and pulled out the rude radio transmitter. He fitted it into one ear.

"Go ahead," he demanded after tapping the device.

"Sir, you better get here quick!" begged a man's voice at once. He sounded quite perturbed.

"What's wrong now?"

"..it..it's Rufus again. He's having another spasm attack."

"Give him a sedative then."

"They're not working. They're only making him worse. He's getting so damn violent, we can barely hold him down. Please Sir!"

Davoren thought a moment. Clear annoyance marked his face.

"Alright. I'll be there in a minute," he consented very dryly. He yanked the transmitter out from his ear back into his pocket.

The same irritation pestered him for another moment. However, Davoren broke off his contemplation when he suddenly glanced again at Aeris, who hadn't spoken during that brief conversation. Without a word, the gunman marched back to the wooden box, and re-lit the forsaken candle.

Aeris watched him in silent suspicion. She stood an inch away from the wall, both hands still clasped against her chest.

The candle light now restored, Davoren returned to Aeris again, for some reason slipping off his heavy trench coat.

"Try to get some sleep now. This should keep you warm enough," he said quietly.

Aeris could not conceal her blank amazement as Davoren wrapped the coat around her. It was quite large for her slender figure, yet the pleasant heat inside warmed her stiff, frozen limbs greatly. Such warmth she had long lost in this hellish nightmare.

When done, Davoren gave Aeris one friendly pat against the cheek, then whispered more softly, "I still say Vincent loves you. And when he comes, trust me, he'll come for you alone."

The visit ended. He walked away.

Aeris' haggard eyes followed him until he reached the stiff dungeon door. One loud knock instantly signaled for the guardsman to open passage. The silent Davoren walked out without once looking back, whereby the door slammed shut again. Silence returned.

Though she was alone now, though he had left, Aeris could still hear his words echo through the dungeon.

-End of Chp.51

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	49. Chapter 52

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.52 

Confusion could not grapple these strange emotions. They all slipped through his numb senses, fluttering about in the dark. There was no sound in this empty existence, no movement, no surroundings; just the darkness.

"It's very cold here...am I all alone?" he wondered to himself.

Suddenly, a burst of brilliant white light exploded into his haggard eyes. He did not understand its meaning, only that the flash has pierced clean through his torn mind.

An insane fire instantly engulfed his body head to toe. The pain started its murderous rampage...again.

The little boy sprang up in bed, panting loudly for air, small hands both atremble: a nightmare. He had just escaped the most horrific nightmare.

Intense fear shook him to the very core. His eyes gaped wide into the darkness ahead. Without even a tinge of sight, he instantly groped around for his stuffed mog. On discovering it buried under the blanket, the distraught child embraced the precious toy all to himself. He even buried his tear-stained face against its soft head.

"..N..Nana?" he whimpered weakly. Nothing stirred in response.

The child waited a long time. He peeked through his tears in a vain search for someone. Utter emptiness haunted the bedroom. In his anxiety, he cast another futile look around when the door finally caught his notice.

It stood ajar. A meager light smuggled through the crack, and cast a thin, long strip of yellow across the black ground. Strange to say, nothing else could be seen in this darkness except that one shred of light.

The child stared in bewilderment at that door, his sole gateway out of this void. So, mog in hand, he quietly slipped out of bed, then pattered up to the door. He opened it half-way.

Rather than wait outside, the greedy light flooded in all at once,  
drowning his sight to total blindness. He didn't resist. Instead, he simply surrendered to a fate which left him in limbo.

Yet the dazzlement only endured another moment. The boy, through a strange twist of events he could not remember, found himself wandering down a deserted corridor in search for someone.

His little feet made no sound against the cold marble floor. He crept along the wall, darting his anxious eyes from corner to corner in suspicion. Darkness stretched to infinity. The horrible monsters of his vivid imagination eyed this child from the shadows. They would have devoured him whole had he not that brave mog to ward off all danger.

As the frightened boy roamed through this huge labyrinth of silent halls, he gradually discerned a single voice not too far away. It sounded like a man's, deep and quite gruff.

The boy neither recognized the voice nor understood any of the actual words. Nevertheless, he found himself drawn towards that one voice,  
like a stray wanderer to a warm fire.

He noiselessly pursued the mysterious echo further down the hallway,  
where it led him up a flight of broad marble steps, and around some obscure corner. The hunt ended at some large oak doors farther down the hall.

The ornate doors had been left ajar against each other, with a bright light flickering through the narrow crack. A deep voice boomed within.  
It ranted to itself in some heated conversation. The little child cautiously snuck up to these ominous doors. He peeked through the bright crack into the room inside.

Vague blurriness marred the interior: patches of hazy colors and obscure shapes barely recognizable. Yet the boy's eyes soon fell on some stout man in a loose robe. He stood at his impressive desk, directly infront of the doors, so that only his broad back could be seen. This man furiously rummaged through a disordered stack of papers, at the same time heckling into the phone. Irritation marked his every movement, from his stern voice to the way smoke fumed from his cigar.

Struck by such a curious stranger, the child edged a bit closer to listen.

"..yes...yes, that's right...20," agreed the angry man as he flicked through some sheets, "...increase the arms sale..artillery shells and riffles...12.9 and 6.4...that's 19.3 on the export tax...what?"

A long pause followed, during which the busy man found enough time to smoke then scribble some brief notice on one paper, all the while listening attentively to the phone. The silent boy marveled at the triple task.

"Ah, wake up, man!" the incensed stranger cried suddenly, "It's war!  
Of course they'll pay that much!...if Sephiroth's the general, then it's sure guarantee...alright, alright! You double-check those figures again, then I.."

So interested in this scene, the little child tilted his weight further forward, when much to his alarm, he suddenly lost all balance. To prevent a fall, he clumsily stumbled against the door, which at once swung open to reveal his hideout.

Before he realized it, the speechless boy found himself in plain view of the entire room.

The conversation was effectively cut short. At this most insolent interruption, the angry man turned around to confront the intruder. Yet on spotting a child there, whose height barely reached the doorknob, he froze in absolute astonishment. He still held the phone up to one ear, cigar shoved aside in his twisted mouth.

The little boy stood rooted at the threshold of the door. In his sudden fright, he had dropped his precious mog, where it now lay face down at his bare feet. His countenance betrayed pure terror.

Both seemed totally shocked by the other. However, it only took the man another moment before a most ominous scowl overcast his face.  
Obviously, he would not take this intrusion too kindly.

"I'll call you back in a minute, Heidegger," he dismissed curtly into the phone.

No sooner had he slammed it shut, than the man instantly demanded,  
"Who the hell are YOU, boy?"

The sharp voice startled the poor child. He fumbled for some reply.

"How'd you get here? Speak up!" thundered the man again.

"..I..ah...I don't k-know," the boy faltered against perturbed tears,  
"..I woke up...it..it was cold...Nana..she wasn't there..."

Anxiety reduced his tremulous voice to meek silence, one in which he stood trembling under hostile scrutiny. From his place over at the desk, the man surveyed this petrified child top to bottom. He was not pleased at all.

"Ridiculous! Just Ridiculous!" he broke off. The exasperated stranger stormed away behind his desk, where he buzzed one button several times.

"I'll fire them! Servants now tagging along their brats like my house is a damn nursery!" he growled through his fuming cigar, "Yes, the whole western front's ablaze in war, and I waste my time on a stupid rugrat!"

The pitiful child shrunk away at this bitter anger, especially that hard, cold glare he received from the furious man. Fear shook his limbs.

"What's your name, boy?" interrogated the man at once.

He struggled for his voice again.

"I said what is your name?"

"Rufus"

"Rufus what?"

"Rufus ShinRa"

An awkward silence followed.

Strange enough, the name stuck the man harder than a bolt of lightening.  
He froze solid on this little child for perhaps a full minute, his whole face the picture of shock in its extremest form.

Yet the boy only stared back. he did not understand the significance of his own name.

Finally, when the man had overcome enough of his astonishment, he beckoned the boy forward with a curt "Come here". His voice, however, sounded far more composed than before.

The child, after much mistrustful hesitation, induced himself to obey.  
Rufus slowly trotted up to the man, where he stood statue still.

For his part, the man showed such peculiar interest in this child, totally contrary to his previous vexation. He loomed overhead to examine every detail. Nothing escaped his keen notice.

Suddenly, a broad grin stretched across his face, thereby revealing his good-humored surprise.

"Hah! Well I'll be damned!" he exclaimed aloud, "You've grown up quite a bit, eh? Ha ha...no wonder I didn't recognize you! How old are you now,  
boy?"

"..n..nine..," the child stammered confusedly.

"Nine? Nine years! You've been around here for nine whole years and I never saw you once? Amazing!"

Rufus only tensed in his spot. The presence of this stranger filled him with such discomfort, almost a loathing dread.

"Heh heh...why the scared look, kiddo?" laughed the man, bestowing a clumsy pat against the child's head, "Don't you know me? I'm your father!  
Your daddy!"

The foreign word escaped the child's simple comprehension. He gaped up at the stranger, his expression blank to the joyous announcement. Yet Rufus could not distinguish this man's face. Every feature had been smudged over by a hazy blur.

"And here I thought you were some dirty kitchen boy. Now then, let's have a look at you," the man scanned him over for a second inspection. He picked up the boy's little chin, then twisted it aside, "Oh! You're gonna be taller than me! Hm..hm...my! Aren't you gonna be the handsome young man once you've grown up! It already shows, by Gaffrey!"

The man heaved another laugh at the predictions. The confused boy hardly understood one word, but succumbed to this awkward treatment all the same.

The scene soon ended on the arrival of rushing footsteps. There followed a hurried knock against the door before someone ventured inside.

"You called, Sir?" asked a woman's voice, very respectful but equally breathless.

Rufus turned his eyes to the new speaker, and recognized "Nana", his governess.

All events strangely melted into a swirl of confusion, at which the child found himself trapped within its mad centre. He remained rigid in his spot while the man had scolded the ever apologetic maid; that she must keep this child in check; that he wanted Rufus removed at once, and would not tolerate any future interruptions. Rufus then felt himself roughly dragged away. The huge doors slammed shut the instant he cleared the threshold.

He hadn't understood anything. He fumbled for his beloved mog but found it no where. He must've forgotten the poor toy back at that room.

Suddenly, it ended. A strange darkness descended whole upon him.  
Sensation was lost, awareness erased, only scraps of some torn conscious left adrift in mayhem.

..."father"?...

...it doesn't matter...

...Nana was very angry at me...she said I'm always a bother. She put me straight to bed, and left me alone in the dark. She wouldn't go back for my mog...

...I was having a nightmare...the room was so dark...

"It's very cold here...am I all alone?" wondered one flat voice through this black fog. It sounded like his own.

The image of a haggard young boy, no older than fourteen, struck him blank until he realized it was his own. Rufus found himself face to face with with a rectangular mirror, hanging so neatly above a clean, white bathroom sink. Silence hammered his ears to deafness.

He stared an eternity at that face. A sickly pallor colored his sallow skin. His vacant eyes shined through his hair strands, clear evidence of a raging turmoil inside. Yet nevertheless, the expression remained as hard as chiseled marble; perfect stoicism.

Rufus gazed a long time at the mute image on the opposite side. At last, he reached for his side pocket, and pulled out a small razor blade.

The boy examined this curious object. He flipped it between his graceful fingers in complete fascination: so clean, without a single stain. So sharp, its edge smooth and blemish-free.

...oh, that's right...I remember now...

Rufus deliberately rolled his sleeve up to the elbow, then clenched his fist tight. In one steady movement, he slit his wrist; one cut clean across the skin.

...I tried to kill myself that day...

The boy marveled at this grievous deed. dark blood seeped through the wound. It trickled down his arm, where it dripped so neatly off his elbow.

Crimson red, such a wondrous color for his empty eyes to behold. He held his arm up, idly observing the red droplets plunge to their doom, each one stealing another ounce of his life.

Shards of broken thoughts raged around, inhuman and totally unfamiliar. Each one tugged at him in a different direction.

...I really wanted to kill myself that day...

...I was angry...

...why? Why be angry?...there's money...so much money...servants.  
land and wealth...people...they all flock around...they worship me to

the very ground...

...I see through them! Everyone lies! They just want more..more land ...more power...more money! They're all alike...greedy leeches.  
hypocrites and liars!...

In the midst of that venomous outburst, Rufus slowly dropped his distraught eyes down to the ground. His lifeless arm hung dead by his side. The blood tumbled off his cold fingertips onto the neat tile floor below.

"So why be angry?" he asked himself, his voice too dispassionate to be normal, "I was born here...amongst them...it doesn't even matter anymore. I'm already one of them...no...no...I'll be the worst one..."

..is that why I was angry?...

"It's too late...it doesn't even matter anymore..."

His weak voice soon trailed off into the far distance. Sight faded.  
Sound was overpowered. In one final breath, his conscious collapsed to darkness again, and he felt no more.

Yet the madness went on. A dozen little tortuous thoughts squeezing past his lonely voice.

...I guess someone found me later...I remember...I woke up in a white room, in some strange bed. My wrist was wrapped up in a bandage, and a tube stuck in my arm...I felt sick for days...

"When I woke up, no one was there."

...no. Not even him. I think...he had an important business conference that day, then a big dinner party. He was too busy to come...or maybe he just never found out...that's okay. I didn't expect him to...

"When I woke up, no one was there."

...I was cold...

It started again. Brutal pain seized his entire mind by the roots,  
wrenching out a flood of strange flashes he couldn't grasp. Each wild light shocked his eyes. Yet at the centre, he glimpsed writing: texts and texts of mindless drivel all scrawled out before him. They made no sense at all.

Then just as suddenly as chaos broke out, it ended again. Everything,  
including his ravaged conscious, disintegrated to oblivion.

When his eyes shot wide open, he found himself trapped amidst a huge crowd of people; their empty chatter rang through his ears. He also discovered a crystal wine-glass held between his fingers, filled to the brim in the luscious, purple drink.

Rufus beheld this festive pandemonium in silent awe: the people had no faces, just grey shades smudged onto their obscure visage; ghosts of no substance, loud and chaotic. They were dressed in the best fashion, men in smart suits like himself, ladies in elegant dresses. They never ceased talking.

He knew not where he was. He recognized no one. The place appeared to be some grand ballroom, amidst some sort of party.

He drifted amongst these strangers, nodding here, smiling there.  
Clever wit to prove one's worth; speech intended to impress, with a confident sweep back through the hair. It's form that counts, not content.

Despite his estrangement, he fitted in perfectly. He belonged among these silly spirits. Yet while part of his being haughtily dictated the proper actions, another half seems to observe him from afar, invisible but still detectable. He didn't find this torn feeling new at all.

"Now then, Mr. Rufus," suddenly called a merry voice from behind,  
"Enjoying the banquet, I hope? It's not everyday you drop by from busy Junon to see us!"

Rufus turned around to face a short, corpulent old man. Though his flabby face had been blotted over by a cloudy haze, this stranger bore an appearance of prominent importance, from his impressive suit up to his filthy cigar.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you," Rufus replied most graciously to the question.  
He paused a moment, then added, "The music is particularly nice."

"Ah! You like music, eh?" the gentleman asked with sly interest,  
"Nothing like a man with a musical ear. I've been told you yourself can play the piano."

"Only a bit, Sir."

"Hah! No, I've been told (from a reliable source too) that you're an excellent pianist! Why, I'll bet my bank notes you can play better than him!"

He indicated the sprite middle-aged musician who played the grand piano over by the window, at the same time winking encouragingly to Rufus.  
The young man, however, fidgeted in mild discomfort.

"I fear the source is too kind, Sir," he declined with forced politeness,  
"I'm not nearly that good a pianist."

The man gave him a long, disappointed look.

"Still, I'd love to hear you play," he regretted aloud. He eyed Rufus very meaningfully from the side.

The wish was interpreted as an order. Rufus wisely desisted any further protests.

The man, beaming with triumphant delight, bustled away for the preparation. Therefore, in no time flat, Rufus found himself seated infront of the grand black piano. The ivory white keys gaped back at him in patient wait.

"What would you like me to play, Sir?" he inquired dryly.

The man, who hovered over Rufus' shoulder from behind, merely laughed the question aside, "Anything! I don't care! Let's just see those graceful little fingers of yours dance with the sweet music. Ha ha!"

The clumsy poetic attempt strained Rufus' eyes into a sour, cold gaze,  
but it remained locked down on the keys. He slipped off his gloves, then flexed his fingers a moment. Rufus hardly thought. His hands lifted up, and played the first song that came to his mind.

He never once lifted his eyes, even though he discerned the attentive gentleman linger behind, as watchful as a vulture. Instead, Rufus watched his own fingers glide along, sweeping out an allegro of sweet-sad music. Both hands moved in graceful elegance, every movement timed perfectly with each note. Indeed, he knew this famous piece too, too well.

...I don't like this song...in fact, I never liked the piano either.  
it reminds me of my mother...

..."mother"?...

Rufus nevertheless continued to play, listening to the music swirl into this ghost monologue. They both haunted the abandoned corners of his brain alone.

...I've only seen her once. One night, there was this big dinner party at our house...so many people...so much talk, food, and wine. I guess I was five. I was supposed to be in bed, but instead, I snuck out of my bed-room, and tip-toed to the ballroom to peek inside. My mother... she was playing the piano for all the guests...this song, I think. That was the only time I ever saw her. I don't even remember her face. I just remember her there, at the piano. I know I watched her for a long time...

He could not hear the music anymore. His hands slid across the keys,  
all ten fingers in an incredible sweep downwards, hardly aware of any effort. Yet to him, there was no sound. Only tiny whispers of insanity.

...there was quite a scandal later on. That same night, after all the guests had went away, my mother left the house, and never came back.  
She took all her money, and disappeared forever...

...I wasn't sad she left...maybe a bit hurt for a while...

...why?...

...because my mother took her money, but didn't take me...

"Ah! BRAVO!" bellowed the man's loud voice so suddenly, scattering the fragile thoughts to oblivion.

Rufus was startled out of the strange trance. He found both hands frozen on the keys, with the last musical note still echoing into the air. All this time, he had been unconscious of his own movements.

"Very, very beautiful!" praised the impressed gentleman. He clapped his flabby hands together, "Ha ha! I knew you were an excellent pianist!  
Well done!"

"Thank you, Sir," Rufus acknowledged.

His tone lacked any emotion. However, inside his head, if he listened carefully, he could hear a lonely child wailing.

The banquet had been impeccably prepared. Dozens of tables dressed in their best finery: elegant silverware polished to perfection; white table cloths spread out beneath the cutlery. The air was abuzz in idle chat.  
Celebrity dignitaries, important businessmen, fashionable ladies, all faceless, sat at their tables. They laughed at anything, or talked of nothing.

Rufus was alone again with the same portly gentleman, this time at one table in some private corner. An overly-eager waiter, probably the head butler, served their dinner in the most gracious manner. Each steaming dish was a beauty to behold. Dainty delicacies and rich sauces (only the finest, to be sure) laced the sumptuous main course.

"And one Bolonga-Vanier wine," the gentleman selected majestically from the wine trolley, even though he had mispronounced the entire name.

The honored waiter nevertheless replied "Yes Sir! At once!" Indeed,  
if he had been asked to kiss their shoes, this man would have undoubtedly still obeyed. The expensive bottle was uncorked, and the dark drink poured out. When thus finished, the attentive butler retreated away with a string of bows.

"I tell you, Mr. Rufus, music and good wine are the only solution to all troubles," declared the good-humored gentleman, "Food for the soul,  
and drink for the mind, eh?"

Rufus nodded his head in agreement, but hardly smiled at the clever wit. His face was marble stoic. The man, however, laughed all the more heartily before turning to his delicious dinner. Rufus lingered a moment over his plate, then followed likewise.

They spent a long time at the table, discussing many "important"  
topics while eating. Yet for all his attempts, Rufus could not grasp the events: the food eaten literally had no taste; the words spoken made no sense.  
Everything rolled by without waiting for him.

Between this inconsistency, Rufus felt a wild tempest of pain wreak havoc through his mind. Insane flashes came crashing into his sight. Again,  
he spotted that mindless drivel at the heart of the storm: mountains of texted jargon, strange geometric diagrams, and snippets of faces he'd never seen before; all zipped by like mad.

But the turmoil only raged inside. Outside, he sat unaffected, almost unaware, of anything save this conversation.

Rufus was surprised to discover that the dinner had somehow finished.  
The empty plates had been removed, and the wine-glasses refilled. The corpulent gentleman had shifted his weight back against the chair in complete satisfaction. He held another cigar in between his fingers.

Rufus sat back in his chair too, both legs and arms crossed in cool composure. He watched the easy man enjoy his cigar without a word.

"And then you must have a taste of the dessert here," invited the pleasant gentleman after a few easy puffs, "Pure heaven! Why, I could never.."

"I'm afraid I can only stay for dinner, Sir," apologized Rufus in a voice that left no room for compromise, "I must return to Junon City tonight.  
I'm scheduled to meet the ambassador tomorrow morning."

"Leaving so soon? Oh, what a pity! You only arrived yesterday."

The abrupt news of departure rather dispirited the man. Rufus nevertheless gestured to one of the passing waiters, who instantly scurried away to fulfill his command. Soon, the waiter returned with some fancy brown-leather file, and placed it square infront of Rufus.

After sending for his coat, Rufus began flicking hurriedly through this file, at the same time saying, "If it would not be too much a bother,  
Sir, I just ask your signature on some papers before I leave. A mere formality the ambassador requires, I assure you."

"Paperwork, paperwork," sighed the fat gentleman in knowledgeable defeat. He drew out his elegant fountain pen, and clumsily signed wherever indicated.

Rufus shuffled quickly through the many papers and dull formats,  
explaining any necessary details. Never once did he lift his eyes up,  
as if rummaging through this file occupied his sole interest. Nor did the gentleman ever interrupt him. On the contrary, he seemed far too silent.

"I've already reviewed the details of the lease contract with the head lawyer," informed Rufus as he ran his finger down a list of numbers,  
"..that's the final tax account for the next five years...plus the investment shares of the Sea Reactor...a total of 78.75, and of course the..."

"Mr. Rufus?" cut in the man.

Rufus dutifully stopped, and looked askance.

"Mr. Rufus, are you aware that I am your father?" asked the gentleman,  
himself bemused by this sudden discovery. His bulky weight leaned forward against the table for a closer, more shrewd inspection. No doubt, he had been studying Rufus' face all this time.

Rufus held his gaze in cold silence. He said nothing.

"I'm your father, you're my son. It just occurred to me right now, when I remembered your last name," though quite subdued, his voice still brimmed in true fascination, "Amazing! I look at you, and wonder to myself 'A son?  
I have a son! By heaven, when did THAT happen?'"

A wild chorus of sensations tingled Rufus' mind. He thought he glimpsed a word...some bold title...those same unfamiliar faces again...that same jargon scrolled out bare...

Yet that storm was inside. Outside, he was stone-cold.

The hefty man released another cloud of dirty cigar smoke with a sigh.  
He then leaned backwards again as his sight reached up to the majestic ceiling.

"Ah youth! I remember way back when I first started this company," he reminisced in fond nostalgia, "People laughed at me: the idea of using Mako... a stream of glowing 'stuff'...they all thought it a fool's dream. Hah! Well, look's who's laughing now! I rule the world and all those lowly saps beneath! My vast Mako kingdom, from the highest mountain peak to the deepest ocean."

...yes...Mako and more money...in a kingdom of leeches and liars...

Rufus did not flinch. His eyes remained locked on the faceless man.

"But suddenly, one realizes how many years have past by since then.  
I'm sitting here, listening to my clever little Vice-President, then realize he's also my own son!"

The amazed man exclaimed heartily at Rufus, "All these years, all this time, there was no one! Then one day, poof! Magic! You were just there to become my Vice-President...my business partner!"

..your business partner...

...no...the truth is, I was always here...you just never noticed.  
or maybe you just forgot...

...that's okay...I never expected you to remember anyway...

"But you're still my son...my son," pronounced the man. He shifted aside in his chair as he eyed Rufus very keenly, "Outside, it doesn't show.  
You'll be glad to know you don't look ONE BIT like me. Heh, you probably look just like your mother. That's where you got all you looks and high-class refinement: mommy."

...yes...mother...she forgot me too...

"But inside, you're exactly like me. You think like me, see the world like me, and ambitious, Sir, just like I was at your age. Heh heh...ShinRa blood! That's what it is!"

...like you?...no...I'm much worse...the blood is so rotten, it stinks all over...

...but it's too late now...

...it doesn't matter...

...and I don't care anymore...

Pain again. Agony ripping through his skull in a murderous path. The wild dance of insanity restarted. Intense lights, faces, heaps of texts, all swooped down upon him, one after another, until they tore his conscious apart.

He grasped the title at last: JENOVA Project: AdM-Genesis Retrial Expt.

Then all plunged to blackness.

A glass pane.

Rufus could see his own reflection clearly against this mute facade. He stood rooted infront of the large window, both hands dangling loose by his sides. His eyes, cool as a calm sea, gazed stoically at the grim horizon far ahead.

It was much darker inside here than outside. The view opened onto an eerie battlement of haunted buildings, their tops raised in vain to the night sky high above. Not a single light in sight. Not a sound stirred the dead-calm air. All creation lay in silent anticipation of some event.

Strange enough, Rufus didn't care to move. He saw no need to.

The same madness ranted on through his ears. It pounded hard against his head, a merciless succession of stabs all into his brain. The thoughts became too scattered; erratic whirlpools beyond control. Nothing made sense.

Over and over it flashed: JENOVA Project: AdM-Genesis Retrial Expt.  
JENOVA Project: AdM-Genesis Retrial Expt...JENOVA Project: AdM-Genesis Retr...

...they say it's a tragedy...

...what is?...

...that man...when he died, everyone was saying to me how sorry they felt...it was a horrible tragedy...a painful loss I must bear...

...liars..I see through them...they just want more...

...a pain? It doesn't hurt. A loss? I never lost anything. Why be sad?...why be angry?...

...no...when he died, I was...happy...

...to see him there...dead...to have him rot in that grave.  
in the dirt...with nothing...that made me happy...

"It's very cold here...am I all alone?" peeped his muffled voice into this mad ramble.

...but that's not enough...I want more...

...more?...

"It's very cold here...am I all alone?"

...yes...I want his hatred...I want him to hate me..to suffer by hating me...

..why?...

...I don't know...

...maybe because I hate him too...

The texted jargon, printed shapes, unknown faces, all crashed upon his mind like a waterfall. Dozens of flashes tugged at him from each direction.

It never ceased: JENOVA Project: AdM- Genesis Retrial Expt... JENOVA Project: AdM-Genesis Retrial Expt...

Suddenly, it came.

His sight raced straight into a mad pool of light. The rumbling stampede shook the room. The window pane rattled wildly to warn of an eminent catastrophe, with the insane heat shooting high up to the ceiling.

Yet Rufus didn't move. He saw no need to.

One explosion. That was all.

The ear-splitting blast screamed through his head. One mighty force hurtled him away through wild shrapnel and torrents of glass daggers, at the same ripping his limbs apart.

Fire. The hellish inferno swallowed him whole, every hungry flame eager for delicious flesh.

His conscious crashed into another darkness far more absolute than any other. No emotion, no senses, no surroundings. All incinerated to ashes.

"It burns me up, but it's still cold inside...am I all alone?" trailed his voice from a distance.

No one replied. All he heard was the lonesome wail of some child, lost forever in this black mist.

His head hurt unbearably.

-End of Chp.52

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	50. Chapter 53

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.53 

The paradox fascinated him: outside hellish hot, inside icy cold.

At the brink of where reality yielded to lunacy, Rufus lingered somewhere in between the two bitter extremes. He was numb to all surroundings except these raw sensations: heat and cold.

Though wide awake, his mind still groped through blind stupor, an inferno where lonely conscious lay shattered on the floor. It seemed doubtful whether he even retained an awareness of his own body, let alone the obscure world around. Indeed, he had strayed miles away from this spot.

The echo of approaching footsteps grew ever closer upon the dungeon,  
accompanied by some strange muffled voices. The young man, however,  
hardly flinched a muscle. Most probably, he didn't even hear anything.

Soon, a loud double "click" resounded. The heavy steel door belligerently swung open to admit visitors. Annoyed yet well-restrained, Davoren marched straight into this dingy cell. Two other men followed close behind; the mercenaries who had called for his immediate assistance. The three were in the heat of some discussion.

"...he's been screaming away for at least an hour, Sir, pacing around the room non-stop!" declared one man nervously, "We tried to hold him down,  
but..."

"And how is he now?" Davoren cut short.

"That's why we called you, Sir. He's just been swinging between so many moods so fast!"

"Even with the sedatives?"

"Huh! We can't even manage this nutty kid anymore. One minute dead quiet, the next stone-crazy!" scoffed the other mercenary aloud to answer.

In other words, drugs only aggravated the young man more.

The awkward silence fell almost immediately upon the company on halting. Davoren stopped in the middle of the cell, while the two men lingered behind. He glanced a moment at these two uneasy guards, then turned his attention the filthiest corner in sight.

There stood Rufus, with his whole back turned to the present visitors.  
He was locked in rigid stupor.

The dungeon appeared to be the tragic remnants of some surveillance room, now totally devastated by decay and neglect. All sorts of artifacts lay smashed along the walls: broken mainframe computers, their ravaged interiors on display; dead, dusty screen monitors, and abused electric equipment. An ominous darkness hung in the chilly air, challenged only by the bravery of a single gas lamp lynched overhead. The only furniture consisted of a low steel table and some beaten chair, both heaped near the wall.

The three silent visitors lingered in rather tense anticipation.  
Davoren stood at the head of the awkward company. Both gloved hands hung loose by his side. His face expressed pensive solemnity as he beheld Rufus'  
stubborn back. He wore no trench coat, only his suit.

Similarly, the two mercenaries waited. The nervous guard had a rather lean appearance, tan, with his woolly hair tucked under a grey skullcap. He fidgeted behind at the spectacle, always fingering his strapped assault rifle in evident discomfort. The other guard merely watched from the doorway. Both arms were folded across his wide chest, with a most contemptuous frown on his bristly face. He seemed to find this entire scene ridiculous.

All attention remained riveted on the young man, yet no response ever came.

Absorbed into his lonely trance, Rufus stood rooted in this dingy corner. His head hung down as if shunning both light and sanity altogether. His hands dangled like dead weights by his side. He had been clothed in the shabbiest attire, which only accentuated the frailty of his slim yet tense body: an old (but decent) pair of blue jeans; a wrinkled black turtle-neck sweater rolled up to the elbows, and beaten winter shoes. Despite his turned back, he still struck a pitifully ruined appearance.

The uneasiness endured another long minute. When it seemed that neither the two mercenaries nor the young man would act, Davoren finally ventured to break the silence.

He assumed the most relaxed, non-threatening demeanor possible. Very,  
very deliberately, he called, "...Rufus?"

His voice fell on dead ears. The boy did not flinch.

Davoren paused a moment, cleared his throat, then tried again, "Rufus, please turn around."

The gunman waited for some response. The guards witnessed the tense scene from afar. They dared not interfere, as if all hope hung on their leader alone.

Nothing.

It seemed uncertain whether Rufus could even hear. Indeed, he hadn't spoken or moved, not even for these three men who anticipated any reaction. A minute passed by. When still nothing came, Davoren slowly edged closer, obviously to draw the boy away from that corner.

"Don't come near me," ordered a curt, strained voice suddenly. Rufus had spoken at last.

Davoren stopped dead on the spot. His peaceful demeanor never wavered.

"...the fire...it'll burn you too...," mumbled the distraught young man in gentle derangement. He refused to lift his head or even face the visitors.

The strange warning certainly puzzled Davoren. He glanced behind at the two mercenaries for some explanation.

"He's been like that all damn night," commented the distempered guard about the lunatic, "he won't let anyone come near him...thinks he's standing in a fire."

Davoren frowned at the news. A deep troublesome expression overcast his face as he returned to the insane young man. Yet despite the warning,  
he edged another cautious step forward.

"Rufus," he repeated gently, "Boy, please turn around."

At long, long last, the second plea won a response. All movements slow and tired, Rufus lifted his head up, then brought himself around to face Davoren.

The insane tempest shone within those ocean-blue eyes. His unnaturally glazed look stared right through the silent gunman, and into empty space instead.

Rufus stood statue-still amidst the torment of this hellish hallucination. Many orange-brown hair strands dangled before his wan face, a disheveled haircut which nevertheless suited him quite nicely. His haggard expression betrayed fatigue, resentment, but mostly pain: both physical and mental anguish.

"...it's so cold inside...," Rufus raved quietly. He hugged himself by clutching opposite sleeves, then withdrew further into the corner,  
"...but the fire's all around...it burns me up...burns me to pieces..."

Davoren, who had thus far stood silent witness, studied the boy's mad face quite keenly. His demeanor remained calm, his expression ever firm but tinted by some concern.

The young man's ordeal suddenly swung to intense anxiety. The wild signs contorted his whole body, in particular his eyes. He seemed beleaguered by forces detectable to his senses alone. Gasps broke out.

"..I don't know...it...doesn't matter...," he muttered weakly,  
squeezing both eyes shut, "..it's so cold here, am I all alone?...there's a fire...it..."

Davoren tried to reason, "Rufus, there is no..."

"DON'T COME NEAR ME!" the lunatic suddenly exploded against an invisible enemy, "THEY TEAR ME UP! ALL OF THEM!"

It started again. Pain and insanity blinded all reason, fuelled onwards by his own traumatic derangement. Much to both Davoren and the guards alarm, Rufus suddenly clutched his head with a stifled cry of agony. The next moment, he reeled over sideways at a total loss of balance.

The reaction came at once. Davoren managed to reach the madman just before he could collapse. On encircling Rufus' weak arm around his own neck,  
he forcefully dragged him away, at the same time angrily ordering the two ineffective mercenaries to bring over the table. The boy's ordeal worsened; his struggles grew more violent, his words more incoherent,  
and the pain more obvious.

Amidst the confusion that followed, the gunman kept a cool head,  
focusing all his efforts on just calming the delirious boy. With one of the guard's help, Davoren sat Rufus down on the steel table. He sat right by his side, then forced the madman to face him.

Rufus persisted to clutch his head as though to the last shred of reality. He writhed on the table in violent irritation, held in place only by the joint effort of the gunman and guard. He didn't respond to any plea.

Finally at his wits' end, the gunman tore Rufus' hands from his head,  
and began to vigorously massage both sides of his head in strong rhythmic movements.

The boy at first resisted. In vain, he tried to wrench off those unfamiliar hands, himself still flustered by blind anger. Yet Davoren continued on. All ten fingertips heedlessly kneaded through the hair,  
with his calm voice trying to reach the disorientated young man. The two mercenaries merely watched the scene without a word. They let their skillful leader handle this trouble alone.

The last-ditch technique finally had the desirable effect. Drained of strength at last, Rufus gradually subdued to tired delirium. He stared emptily into his lap. His weary posture was hunched towards Davoren,  
letting him massage his head without any more protest. The spasm attack had eased off.

"...they're inside...they won't leave me...," Rufus whispered sadly to no one, "...they won't be silent...they won't be silent...and..the fire..it.."

"Sh.Sh.It's okay, son," comforted Davoren,"It's okay.Just take it easy."

He continued the repetitive task while Rufus' heavy head hung down in numb misery. The broad-chested mercenary silently indicated to Davoren whether to give Rufus another sedative (now that the situation was under control). The gunman, however, shook his head.

"Tell me, when was the last time this boy got some decent sleep?" he asked the two guardsmen.

"God knows, Sir," one man shrugged his shoulders, "He usually raves on 'till he drops. These attacks just come 'n go without warning."

"Seems to me they come more often than they go...this boy needs rest more than anything else," Davoren frowned, "What's the scan level on his brain?"

Both mercenaries exchanged a meaningful look before the lean one with the skullcap admitted, "...ten degrees, full-scale power, Sir."

"Ten degrees! That's the maximum level!" started Davoren in astonishment, glaring most significantly at the two.

"The...the Professor ordered us to keep it at ten."

Davoren thought a minute, if only to bring his rising displeasure under control. He hadn't liked that answer one bit.

"Shut it off," he commanded sternly.

"Wha!"

"I said shut it off. Shut that damn machine off."

"B-but..the Professor...," protested the other man fearfully.

Yet Davoren would not bicker. He sprang up to confront the nervous mercenary, pink eyes ablaze in real vexation.

"I don't give a rat's ass what the Professor ordered. He's also left ME directly responsible for keeping this boy alive!" stated the gunman. A cold tightness strained his tone, "If he dies, I get all the blame. Do as I say. Shut that infernal scanner off, or you'll FRY his brains!"

The mercenary fumbled between the two contradictory orders. So nervous under that harsh glare, he could only stutter, "..ah, well, S-Sir...I..."

"Argh! The kid's a damn half-wit retard!" thundered the foul-tempered guard instead. He hurtled another horrible oath at Rufus, then suggested contemptuously, "We oughtta just stuff him with a few more drugs 'n chain him up somewhere! That'll keep that bastard quiet! I say..."

"I say you'd best restrict such idiotic remarks to yourself before you wind up dead," Davoren advised. Though he didn't look at the brazen man, his icy countenance from the side was enough to win silence.

Remarkably, Rufus still sat slouched over on the table top, muttering soft nonsense to himself. One hand covered his wan face, with wild hair strands hanging over. He never took notice of this conversation. He didn't even seem aware of his surroundings.

The lean mercenary still lingered in uneasy hesitation until Davoren at last lost his patience; he'd settle the problem now. Therefore, he reached for his sidepocket, and tossed his precious cigarette pack, lighter,  
and a few gils over to the astonished guard.

"At least reduce the intensity," Davoren compromised, "Make it three degrees."

The silent man examined these generous gifts for a moment. He peeked at the gunman's grave face, then softly said, "..y..yes, Sir."

At last, an agreement. The bribe had worked.

The corrupt mercenary acted immediately. Slipping these treasures into his own pockets, he marched straight out of the dingy dungeon, presumably to fulfill his end of the bargain.

Davoren's cold eyes followed the man until he had departed, whereby he then turned over to the other guard.

"You wait outside," he dismissed with a curt nod, "I'll handle the kid."

The scornful mercenary grudgingly obeyed. He walked out, then slammed the heavy door behind, leaving the gunman alone to handle the bothersome task.

The instant the door shut, Davoren expelled one tired sigh, pressing his temples to disperse the irritation. He then turned to Rufus again. The prisoner's state hadn't changed; not even his weary posture, with his bowed head, and the position of his legs (one folded up on the table, the other supporting him from the floor).

"...there's a fire everywhere...," he whispered away to madness,  
"...it blasts through the sky...the glass...into my face...it burns me up until there's nothing more... but it's still so cold here...so cold..am I all alone?"

Davoren beheld the pitiful sight quite keenly. He walked back to Rufus, then bent over to inspect him. The young lunatic, however, raved on unaware and uninterrupted.

"...they're inside me...I don't want to listen...it hurts too much to listen...but they're so loud..and so many..."

"Rufus, there's no one here," the gunman persuaded very patiently. He placed one hand over his shoulder, "You were just having a bad dream,  
kid. It's okay."

The gentle persuasion must have reached somewhere through the blind delirium. For the first time since this visit, Rufus brought his dazed eyes to look at the gunman. They fastened hard on his face.

Confusion never showed more than when those dull, vacant eyes looked one straight. Deep weariness intermingled with the haziness inside,  
reducing his gaze to hopeless despair.

Yet gradually, reason prevailed. One sharp headache pierced clean through Rufus' skull, dispersing the mist away with a soft grunt. Indeed, when it had passed, the boy found himself thus seated on the table, in his black dungeon, with Davoren looking over him. He tiredly blinked back at the gunman as though just awakened from some troubled sleep.

The madness had stopped. Dull reality began to gather his torn senses together.

"How's your head now? Any better?" asked Davoren.

It took Rufus another moment before he found his voice.

"...D...Davo..re..n..," he identified after some difficulty.

"Ah, good!" beamed the man with a relieved laugh, "Heh, what with all that was going on, I was worried you'd forgotten me. It's been...what..two weeks since I last visited you?"

Silence came the reply. Though exhaustion lay bare on his face, Rufus could not hide his genuine bewilderment. He didn't seem to understand what events had dumped him here.

But Davoren nevertheless appeared quite pleased with this mental change. He gave the boy a friendly pat before he turned away again, "There now.  
You behave yourself."

Rufus said nothing. He cast his weary sight down to his lap, and waited for nothing. Davoren soon pulled up a chair for himself.

"I would've visited you sooner, but I've been swamped in work like mad this whole past week...unbelievable!" chatted Davoren to the mute prisoner. He propped the wooden chair nearby, then sat down so that both elbows leaned against its hard back, "So now that I've got some extra time, I may as well check up on ya, eh?"

Whether depressed or simply indifferent, Rufus did not flinch a response. His eyes, a blue pool of gloom, gazed down into nothingness. His withdrawn countenance looked so dejected, more so compared against his youth;  
quite contrary to his guest's easy-going demeanor.

Again, Davoren found himself lingering in hopes of some reaction.  
Though the wait soon proved futile, he never lost his good-humor.

"Oh! I got you something while I was out. You'll love it!" he suddenly remembered. Davoren began to grope inside his suit-jacket; Rufus watched him.

At last, the gunman pulled out some small, swollen paper-bag. He ripped the top open, then held it out to Rufus at arm's length.

The young man apparently did not understand this gesture. He peered into the mysterious bag to discover it filled with flat, round cakes, their texture grainy-white. He looked back at Davoren in slight puzzlement.

"They're rice-cakes, boy," the patient gunman explained, "Haven't you ever seen any before?"

From the tired blank look he received, Davoren guessed not.

"Well, go on. try one. They're really delicious," he encouraged,  
shaking the crinkly paper bag ahead, "At least better than that pig-slop they feed you here."

Rufus beheld the dainty cakes rather sourly, as though another disgusting taste had already clogged his throat. More tired than resentful, the prisoner turned his cheerless sight away.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered weakly.

"The guards tell me you haven't eaten anything in days. You MUST be hungry," insisted Davoren. The bag still hung wide open.

"I'm not hungry."

An awkward pause followed.

The curt refusal rather disappointed Davoren. He dropped his outstretched arm to the side.

"Alright. I'll just give them to the guards then," he sighed aloud,  
slyness detectable in his disheartened voice, "...and I roamed the whole city at 1 am to find a decent bakery that sold these...seems such a waste to buy them only to give 'em to those mercenary pigs..."

Rufus returned his dejected eyes back to the gunman.

"But I'd be really happy if you ate at least one rice-cake," Davoren admitted, "That way, it wouldn't be a total waste...please?"

There was such childlike simplicity in the gunman's bearing; an incredible friendliness that disarmed any mistrust or doubt. He held out the humble paper-bag not ordering, but inviting the prisoner. Rufus reflected a moment upon this man (no doubt he thought him very strange), then down at the bag.

He took one cake.

The young man sat with both legs squared on the cold table top,  
quietly munching the crisp cake in his mouth. He swallowed it by force.

"...good?" smiled Davoren.

Rufus found the taste quite so. He nodded his head, then silently took another cake.

The once tense, rowdy scene had certainly subdued to some form of tranquility. Davoren watched the famished boy appease his hunger without a word.  
Rufus chewed the food in complete silence. He took one cake only after swallowing the first.

He stopped on his twelfth. When sure the boy did not want anymore,  
Davoren finished off the remainder, then tossed the crumpled bag away.

"...Davoren?" called Rufus in a hesitant undertone.

"Yup?"

"...he...came again..."

The stark anxiety on Rufus' face caught Davoren's notice more than those ominous words. He studied the boy's expression from the side, himself quite solemn.

Rufus' wan face darkened to fearful confusion as some shadow overcast his memory. Intense disgust stiffened his muscles. He sat hunched on the table top, both legs folded loosely and fists bare in his lap.

"..that man...he came again...," Rufus confided below an ominous murmur, "...his voice is so loud and rude...and when he looks at me, his eyes just drill into me...I don't know him, but he knows me...and everywhere I go, he follows me...he won't leave me alone..."

Davoren listened without interruption.

"...it gets so cold...I feel numb all over...it's always dark, but there's a fire...it covers me..and those voices...they..."

"Boy, listen to me," reassured the gunman gently, "I tell you, it was just a bad dream. There is no fire, no voices, no 'man' who follows you around. It wasn't real."

Rufus' face grew scornful, not at the kind comfort, but at the hot turmoil inside.

"..no...it was real..I felt it all...," he insisted, his quiet voice strained by resentment, "...the glass exploded in my face...the fire...the voices always danced around me...but I couldn't stop them...they tore me up to so many pieces...so many, I got lost..."

The gunman ran his fingers back through his snow-white hair, uneasily searching for something to say.

"...there was so much hatred there...I hate that place...those ghosts..all of them..."

"But it's just a nightmare, son," reasoned Davoren against this gloomy preoccupation, "You shouldn't let it upset you this much!"

Unfortunately, it did. Rufus sunk into his former seclusion. His deep-blue eyes wandered far into thoughtful morbidity. He spoke no more.

"Ah, I swear Rufus! Like it would kill you to maybe smile more often"  
declared Davoren, himself dampened by this depression.

He wouldn't let the boy sink any further. Instead, Davoren reached for his breast pocket, and carefully pulled something out.

"Here," he offered Rufus his closed hand.

Rufus confusedly looked at him.

"It won't bite you. Just hold out your hand."

Rufus obeyed. To his great puzzlement, Davoren dropped some sort of trinket into his palm, then calmly said, "Now hold it up to the light. Go on."

A closer examination revealed the ornament to be some small, dull-green stone, chipped unevenly into a round piece. A narrow chain pierced it from one end. It looked quite faded and old.

Rufus sought some explanation from Davoren with a quizzical look. But the gunman only indicated the feeble gas lamp which hung overhead. At a loss, Rufus obeyed again. He fit the dirty piece between his thumb and index,  
then held it high up to the light.

His tired eyes widened in genuine wonderment at the beauty of this simple phenomenon. The hazy lamplight showered the entire stone. But incredibly,  
the color had kindled from dirty-dull to a brilliant green glow. It resembled a pure emerald set ablaze in between his fingers.

Rufus turned his amazed sight back to the gunman.

"How...how does it do that?" he marveled.

"Magic," smiled Davoren mysteriously, fixing his thoughtful gaze up on the glowing stone.

"..see, MANY years ago, back when I was a little kid, I didn't live in this city," he recounted to the silent prisoner, "My folks and I...we lived in another town far away. Now, this village was a bit run-down...y'know, on the poor side. There wasn't much to do, and I never had enough money to buy any toys. But there was this old Mako cavern nearby...just brimming with this stuff. So for fun, I used to sneak into that cave, and dig around."

Rufus listened in complete silence. In truth, the amicable, plain manner of Davoren's speech struck him as most strange.

"Heh! I guess I was pretending to be a famous archeologist...maybe uncover some hidden treasure, then I could buy myself lotsa toys!" the gunman chuckled at the childish fantasy, "Heh heh...but of course, all I found were those stones. They were all over the place in those days...so easy to find."

He looked at the prisoner rather cheerfully, "Well, one day, I stumbled across that piece in the dirt. It looked so different from all the rest...they don't usually come in that shape. Then I discovered that neat trick it did with light. So, I made it into a chain...sorta like a little lucky-charm."

Rufus reflected a moment upon the simple anecdote before returning to the beautiful stone piece. He began to roll it from side to side,  
marveling at the green color change shades in the light. He was certainly fascinated by this antique.

Davoren smiled at his success. Indeed, another depression bout had been averted. He sat elbows against the chair's back, with hands interlocked over his chin. He looked so carefree.

"...what is this stone?" inquired the curious Rufus at last.

"It's materia."

The prisoner slowly lowered his hand away from the light. The green brilliance of the stone died at once.

"Oh, it can't do anything else besides glow in the light," laughed Davoren with a wave of the hand, "this thing is just a useless piece I picked off the ground...just for a little ornament. Nothing more!"

"...materia...," pronounced Rufus in a hushed undertone. His eyes riveted hard on the dirty stone.

The simple word bewildered his mind. He seemed, while churning it about, to discern some threat: an invisible presence sneak up from behind with a sharp dagger of pain; quick flashes of blurry nonsense, faces, words, all swirl into one hellish flame.

"Rufus? You alright, kid?" called Davoren in apprehension. The boy's face had paled quite noticeably.

However, whatever trouble pestered him, Davoren's voice had somehow dispersed it time. Startled out of his reverie, Rufus blinked confusedly at the dull stone, then back at the worried man.

"..it's..very beautiful," Rufus quietly admired the trinket. After a final look, he handed it back.

"Well actually, it's not mine per say," corrected the gunman as he slipped it into his pocket, "It's only mine for...safekeeping."

"...safekeeping?"

Davoren paused a moment, then answered, "...yes."

A heavy silence befell the two men, Davoren more in particular. Yet soon, the reopening of the dungeon door effectively shattered the peace. The tan-skinned, corrupt mercenary poked his head inside.

"Sir?" he called aloud.

"What is it?"

The guard couldn't help but marvel at the subdued Rufus, then hurriedly informed, "...the...uh...the Professor wants to see you. He says now."

A cold scowl darkened Davoren's face on hearing the command.  
Nevertheless, he shuffled out of the wooden chair.

"Right. Right. I'll be there at once," Davoren dismissed. He motioned the nervous guard outside, which the latter instantly obeyed.

Silence lingered another moment in the grim dungeon; Davoren still seemed bothered by some petty thought. However, he soon returned to Rufus.

"I'll make them keep the scanner down for a few hours," he muttered softly, as if revealing some secret, "You're very tired. Get some sleep, alright?"

Rufus nodded his head in consent.

The gunman gave the boy one comforting pat on the shoulder before turning away. He marched out of the dungeon, where both mercenaries stood waiting for his final reappearance. The door slammed shut behind.

Rufus heard their footsteps die away, one stunned voice still exclaiming, "...dunno how you do it, Sir! This kid gets so outta hand, we can't even..."

Soon all was quiet again. Ghostly tranquility in perfect solitude.

-End of Chp.53

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	51. Chapter 54

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.54 

The Mako Reactor.

If desolation ever had a face, then this place fitted the description perfectly. It stood barren, utterly abandoned to decay. The ancient fortress, built of metal instead of stone, mourned the demise of a glorious era, when emerald-green life had flowed through its veins. Alas, no more.  
Time had stripped away all its dignity.

The Reactor was a labyrinthine cavern of brick and metal. The fortified walls reached up to black obscurity high, high above, its iron roots grappled deep into the ground below. The large platforms extended out like shelves. Hefty girders supported their majestic weight, while metallic bridges cross-linked them to ominous passageways through the walls. The empty staircases winded down through the ruinous site. Their railings had been broken, some steps even torn off.

Indeed, the ravaged Reactor resembled a junkyard museum. Myriads of pipes clung onto the crumbling walls as if to dear life. Large pumps shot up along the brickwork high to the darkness above. The smaller, more timid ones formed a network of connections, all fitted around the dead electricity cables.

Yet this hungry horde of metal would have more. The main Mako ducts arched magnificently overhead like flying buttresses. Sooty air-ducts snaked all along, held in place by russet crossbars. Some ended at stiff iron grates, other hung onto the ceilings in wretched misery.

Dull droning echoed through the dank, cold air; a discordant chorus of machines humming away. There was only a tinge of light to liven this dingy fortress, thanks to those dusty glass lanterns of pale-yellow.  
Otherwise, darkness reigned supreme.

The place was dirty, haunted. The remains of a fallen empire; this knotted jumble of metal bars and twisted pipes. Nothing more.

Rufus wandered through these desolate ruins, totally oblivious to the surroundings. Instead, quiet insanity had plunged him into another trance. He walked without any particular destination, perhaps not even aware of his own movements.

All he felt were them; those horrid ghosts who raged inside his head.  
They burned him up, but left him so cold.

The young man drifted across the iron bridge, his dull eyes rolling over the black pit below. Suddenly, it came again. So violent, Rufus stifled a hideous grunt, at the same time clutching his head from both sides. His temples throbbed in agony. Already, he was gasping for air.

"There he is! Up there!" cried a faint voice far below.

"Move it! C'mon!" barked another gruff voice.

Rufus heedlessly continued his journey to nowhere. However, his gait soon crumbled to unsteadiness until at lat, drained and delirious, he collapsed to his knees. The sharp headaches never disappeared. They simply squeezed further into his skull.

"...they're inside...here...inside...," he raved to himself, "...so many...it hurts...ah! It hurts too much!...there's just the fire..."

The tormented prisoner groped through this madness, gasping for sanity yet finding none. At last, he found the iron balustrade. He climbed back up his wobbly feet, just as another headache stormed his brain. Again, he clutched his head, this time only with one hand. His entire arm clumsily held onto the rail for support.

He didn't hear the loud footsteps stampede up the winding staircase.  
Soon, two guards, the same who had called for Davoren, stormed across the bridge towards him. On finding the distraught boy thus, they both paused to catch their breaths. They seemed to have been running around for a long time.

"Ah, stupid brat!" muttered the angry mercenary as he wiped the sweat off his face, "How the hell'd he get outta his damn cell?"

"..I..I must've forgotten to lock the door after Mr. Davoren left," the lean guard faltered, " When he gets these spasm attacks, he tends to...roam around... he must've opened the door by accident, and wandered..."

"I thought you turned that weird machine down or sumthin'!"

"I did! That don't mean the attacks stop altogether! He still..."

"Argh! Whatever!" the furious man threw both hands into the air. He obviously didn't care for a proper explanation.

All attention turned to the madman, who remained utterly oblivious of their presence. Rufus still supported himself up against the railing,  
head bowed down into one hand, with loose hair strands all around.

"Fuh! Let's just get this bastard back to his cell before ol' Davo blows his top," decided the distempered man. He approached the lunatic.

The other guard, however, drew back in alarm.

"H-hey, man!" he warned outloud, "You shouldn't walk up to him like that! No tellin' how he'll react. He can get pretty violent!"

The stark warning sounded ridiculous to the other man. He merely dismissed it with some violent curse. He continued onwards until he stopped directly infront of Rufus. A most contemptuous scowl twisted his bristly face.

Yet Rufus made no indication he even saw this man. Indeed, he resembled a wild animal, tense and quite unstable.

"...maybe we should call Mr. Davoren again," suggested the nervous guard, "..he always knows how to handle..."

The foul-tempered mercenary completely disregarded the reasonable suggestion. He roughly grabbed the front of Rufus' sweater, then yanked him up to the very tips of his shoes.

The savage man rattled him a few times just to assert his authority.  
Rufus struggled, not against this abusive treatment, but against the insane pain throbbing inside his head. His eyes were shut tight.

The other mercenary only looked on in extreme uneasiness.

"Y'know, I've just about HAD it with this damn retard 'n his crazy talk!" spat the incensed guard, "Whatta load of crap!"

The boy forced one eye open. He looked straight at this man, but seemed to see another person; a phantom conjured up by sheer insanity.

"...when I woke up...he wasn't there...," Rufus whispered softly to the confounded guard, "..he didn't even...know I was alive...but that's okay... I never expected him to remember anyway..."

The move come so unexpectedly, just as madness seized full control. In a sudden wake of violence, Rufus shot one foot hard into the man's inner thigh, delivered at such an angle it reeled the howling guard aside.  
Rufus followed up the kick at once. Clasping both hands together, he swung them up clean into the underside of this man's chin.

Both mercenaries were stunned, one with horror, the other with blunt pain. The hard-hit guard clumsily staggered backwards to absorb these blows, at the same time dropping Rufus from the iron grip. The insane boy collapsed against the balustrade again.

The madness had only wanted release, even though it now left him depleted of all strength. He found it impossible to even balance himself.

"ARGH! YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" roared the mercenary for vengeance. Acting on fury alone, he grabbed the boy more savagely than before, then rammed his whole fist into his stomach.

Rufus choked aloud on the murderous pain. The jagged knuckles had went clean into his guts.

Still holding onto his hapless victim, the enraged men punched one side of Rufus' face, then struck down against his head, all the while hurtling out every curse known. Rufus succumbed to this ruthless bombardment without resistance. He simply had no more to offer.

"Hey! Hey! Whoa!" shouted the alarmed the mercenary, "You kill this kid, 'n Davoren will friggin' MURDER us! Stop!"

"You really piss me off, you shitty asshole!" bellowed the guard,  
deaf to his friend's urgent pleas. He aimed one huge first straight for Rufus'  
face, "I swear, I'll beat ya to a bloody..."

Suddenly, one loud clamor from above interrupted the brutal scene.

All sight instantly shot to the overhead ventilation duct, just in time to witness the iron grate crash down under one forceful kick. Much to their astonishment, some man gracefully swung out of this new entrance, and landed on both feet for all to behold.

He stood slouched up in a very relaxed battle-stance, only a short distance away: his shoulders drooped slightly forward, legs set apart,  
and a long metallic staff held slanted behind. A crooked smile twisted his lips aside, one so full of scorn.

It was Reno.

The two astounded mercenaries gaped at this unexpected sight. Still held thus captive, Rufus could only blink in wide bewilderment at the brave (or foolish) man.

"Who...who the hell are you!" exclaimed the tan-skinned mercenary.

"Would you believe, I'm the air-duct inspector," announced Reno in a complete show of bravado.

"IT'S AN INTRUDER! GET HIM!" thundered the other guard.

The raucous battle cry stirred up instant chaos. The tan mercenary automatically bared out his loaded assault rifle, just as Reno's whole demeanor turned dead-serious. In the blink of an eye, he lunged straight for his enemy.

A loud hailstorm of bullets tore through the air, with the angry assailant roaring for blood. However, Reno had already swung behind the guard in an incredible maneuver. The single attack was fatally swift. Reno encircled the man's neck with one arm, then jammed the nightstaff clean into his back.

It ended in an instant. The brutal surge of electricity ripped through the man's entire body, wild sparks mixed into his insane screams. Reno then ruthlessly swung his stunned victim across the iron balustrade. The latter stumbled over the railing, and plunged down to his doom.

"DAMN YOU!" bellowed the other mercenary. He flung poor Rufus aside,  
at the same time yanking out his own gun.

But before a single shot could be fired, Reno had already acted. He quickly twirled the metal staff right up against the man's wrist, which effectively knocked the weapon out of his grip. The guard was absolutely shocked: everything happened too fast!

His surprise doubled when two strong arms suddenly cut his breath short. Rude, who had snuck up from behind, held the struggling man upright in a tight headlock. With one powerful twist, he cracked the whole head aside. The mercenary's struggled ceased at once. His neck had been broken.

Rude dropped the dead man to the ground.

"Took ya long enough!" greeted Reno, slinging the nightstaff onto one shoulder, "I was beginning to think you got lost."

Rude gave him a sour look of disapproval, "What's the idea crashing into a fight like that? Are you crazy? Those men had guns."

"Well, that bastard was throttling him! Crashing through the air-duct was the quickest way!" Reno gave his reddish-pink hair a fine backsweep before adding, "...besides, it made a cooler entrance than yours."

Rude dared not discuss his difference of opinion. Instead, both men turned their attention around to Rufus.

The young man gaped back in pure astonishment. He sat slouched on the floor, having just been shoved against the iron balustrade. He did not speak a word.

"Mr. President...are..you alright?" asked Rude at last. He gently touched Rufus' arm to help him up.

Shock turned to stark alarm. The boy instantly struck that friendly hand away, then scrambled up to his feet. He retreated a few steps from these two men, who couldn't help but give him an odd look.

His anxious eyes darted between his two saviors: Reno was slovenly dressed in a black pair of jeans and a short, open jacket. His shirt was (of course) untucked, with an unbuttoned collar and sleeves rolled up over the jacket's. Rufus paused to note Reno's unique hair-style before turning to the other man. Tall as ever strong, Rude wore simple winter pants,  
with a brown leather jacket zipped half-way.

The young man spent a rather long time absorbed in mute scrutiny,  
which put the two men at further discomfort.

"...who...who are you?" he asked them at last.

An awkward silence followed. The question had caught them both completely off guard.

"Heh, are we THAT hard to recognize without our suits?" joked Reno,  
"It's us, Sir!"

Rufus gave him a blank look.

"Reno, remember?"

No reply.

"..and..uh...Rude," he paused, himself growing a bit uneasy. Indeed,  
neither name seemed to stir any memory.

They lingered in silent embarrassment. Reno scratched the back of his head, unsure what to make of this situation. Rude looked over the boy in evident discomfort.

"Don't you...recognize us, Mr. President?"

"..Mr...President...?" echoed Rufus, perplexed by the title.

"Yeah. President!" confirmed Reno impatiently, "Y'know! Of ShinRa Inc.! And we were your Turks, the.."

"My what?"

Both men exchanged a significant glance before Rude re-tried, "Sir.  
don't you even vaguely remember us? Not even our faces?"

Rufus' expression told it all: he obviously did not.

This scene was the epitome of awkward encounters: Rufus haggard by depravity, the two men searching in vain for an answer from his face.  
Rude took his friend aside for a private conversation.

"Think it's really him?" he muttered nervously.

"Of course it's him!" insisted Reno outloud, gesturing towards the young man, "Look! same exact face! Same voice! Same everything! It IS Rufus ShinRa!"

They both peered over at him a moment just to make sure, then resumed their discussion.

"But if it is him, how'd he survive that blast?" mused Reno. He folded both arms as his gaze strayed downwards, "It's impossible. No one could've walked outta THAT mess unhurt, let alone alive. And why the hell is he HERE, at the lab?"

Rude rubbed his goatee in deep thought, "..maybe...somebody saved him after the explosion, and brought him here..."

"...e..explosion?" interrupted Rufus suddenly.

Their solemn attention turned back to the boy. Confused apprehension marked his entire face as he glanced between them.

"..and how do you...know my name?" he asked further, yet edging one step backwards. He had become suspicious.

Rude looked to his friend to answer, but Reno only frowned: this conversation was getting no where.

"You're telling me you don't remember ShinRa Inc.? Nothing at all?" he interrogated rather sharply. His keen sea-green eyes fixed into his.

Rufus said nothing.

"No Avalanche, no Turks, no Mako, no 'Promised Land', nothing?"

The boy blinked back in a whirl of amazement.

"You're very strange," he commented bluntly, "I didn't understand a single word you said."

The simplicity of this answer struck Reno point blank, in which he could only gawk wide at Rufus. Rude was quite shocked too.

"...you're not the guards...I don't know you..."

The matter thus settled, Rufus simply shuffled around to leave.

"What about old man ShinRa?" demanded Reno after him, "Now you GOTTA remember him! He was your father!"

The word brought Rufus to a halt. He tiredly turned his head back to these persistent strangers. His dull eyes sunk into morbid confusion as his thought strayed far away.

"...there is this...man...," he murmured, as if lost in a dream.

"...'man'?" repeated Reno.

"...he follows me around...he doesn't have a face...and when I'm there, with him, I can see myself...and be myself at the same time. Davoren says it's only a nightmare, but..sometimes...I feel that it's not at all...that man... he told me he was my father..but..I never..."

His sad voice trailed off into another blunt headache. Rufus pressed his throbbing temples to stifle the pain, or perhaps shove some violent emotion away. Both men, on the other hand, beheld this bizarre sight in a mixture of amazement and worry. In truth, they couldn't make much sense of those mad words.

Rude tugged once at Reno's sleeve, then muttered aside, "You suppose that explosion...sorta...messed up his mind?"

In other words, had Rufus ShinRa lost all sanity in that hellish fire? It seemed quite so, judging from his unpredictable mood swings and odd behavior. Yet Reno only narrowed his eyes more keenly. Some bothersome thought troubled him.

Rufus looked at the two men again.

"You'd better run away," he warned them tiredly, "...he'll know you're not the guards...he'll discover you're here."

The riddle baffled both men further, especially this ominous "he" person. However, a sudden rush of footsteps and rough cries from behind effectively raised their alarm peak-high: that brief skirmish had attracted plenty of unwanted attention.

-End of Chp.54

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	52. Chapter 55

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.55 

It was only another second before a horde of mercenaries came charging down the bridge, weapons ready for action.

"THERE!" one man hollered.

"INTRUDERS!" shouted another.

"Aw, shit! Rude!" Reno instantly signaled.

They both acted at the same time, fast and without pause. Much to Rufus' great shock, Rude forcefully swept him under his armpit, then darted away at top speed. Meanwhile, Reno thwarted the advance. The nightstaff twirled through his nimble fingers into a fiery ring of brilliant electricity.  
In an instant, Reno hurtled this charged blaze at the charging enemy, then bolted away right after Rude.

Neither man looked behind, not even as the thunderous explosion rocked the whole bridge end to end, with the harsh clamor of metal collapsing behind. Instead, they both rushed to escape, Rufus angrily struggling (in vain)  
for freedom. They had just fled the bridge when fresh bullets tore after them: those surviving mercenaries had stumbled out of the wreckage, and already resumed pursuit.

"Where's the way out?" demanded Rude as they flew down some bleak corridor.

"How should I know!" snapped Reno.

"I thought you said you've been here before!"

"Gimme a break, will ya? I've only been in this rat-maze ONCE!"

They ran a long time through this outstretched hall until finally emerging into open space again. The wild uproar stormed ever closer from behind.  
They followed another corridor, across the platform, then down some winding staircase. Rude lead the way, Reno guarded his rear.

Escape was their sole objective. They had only cleared the first flight of steps when two mercenaries came charging up at them for a brutal confrontation.

Again, neither man spoke; they simply acted: while Rude rushed onwards, Reno gracefully hopped over the railing down to the next flight below.  
He landed just in time to intercept the two astounded guards, whereby he lunged straight into instant-attack mode.

Reno hit hard and fast, granting neither enemy a chance to retaliate.  
He pumped a brutal electric shock right into one man's stomach with his staff, switched hands from behind, only to slam the weapon up into the other man's jaw, then hard against his left shoulder. Both hefty blows sent the stunned mercenary tumbling wildly down the stairs.

The remaining guard, though blind from shock, nevertheless groped for his gun. By then, however, Rude had reached the scene. Keeping the still enraged Rufus safe under his armpit, he ruthlessly twisted the guard's arm in some amazing move, which somehow flipped this enemy headfirst over the balustrade; all this while still running.

They continued downwards, with the angry storm hot on their heels. On clearing the staircase, both men miraculously swung a sharp turn sideways, just as more bullets blitzed down.

They dodged straight through a throng of metal supports, where the path ultimately led across an open corridor: one side overlooked an ominous pit of massive compressor-pumps far below, the edge was outlined by stiff railing. The wall side, on the other hand, lay hidden behind a hard curtain of pipes and metalwork.

"Left! Left! Turn Left!" shouted Reno.

He referred to an upcoming passageway which diverged off this main path. Rude automatically lunged aside into this dark refuge, gagging poor Rufus with his whole hand. Reno followed in right behind.

Blessed darkness obscured them completely. Both men glued their whole backside against the cold concrete wall. They neither breathed nor spoke. Even Rufus had ceased his futile struggles (probably because he couldn't breathe anymore).

As hoped, the incensed mercenaries rushed straight past this bleak hideout, and instead headed farther down the main corridor. Soon, their heavy stomping trailed off until they disappeared altogether.

There was a long, silent wait.

When absolutely sure of their escape, both men heaved one huge sigh,  
then broke down into soft gasps. They seemed to have been running forever.  
Reno vexedly wiped the sweat off his face before turning to his friend.

"This place is crawling with goons. What the hell are they doing here?" he whispered in keen suspicion, "This is a top-secret facility. It's supposed to be abandoned."

Another silence befell them. Each man found himself revolving a hundred frustrating thoughts around for some explanation. Rude in particular seemed quite discomforted by this grievous situation.

"...Reno, what should we do now?" he asked at last.

"Why do I have to do all the thinking here!"

Rude replied as a matter of fact, "Well, YOU were the one who woke me up at two in the morning, told me we were going to 'investigate'  
someplace, then dragged us into this broken Reactor. I thought you said yesterday you didn't believe the President could be alive."

Though Reno begrudged it, the simple truth stood undisputable. Indeed,  
it had been noticed that last night's scene had left him ever since in sour preoccupation. Reno had hardly spoken afterwards. His take-out ramen had been gobbled up, whereby he had then retreated to bed with a brusque "good night". Such uncharacteristic distemper had certainly baffled both Rude and Elena.

However, Rude had later discovered what trouble pestered his moody friend: that same night, the man had been startled out of his sleep by a fully-dressed Reno, who insisted they go investigate the secret laboratory this minute. Rude, of course, had understood, and complied at once. It was agreed Elena would be excluded from this "mission". So, she was left asleep, while they had stealthily slipped out.

And then, Reno had flung both caution and secrecy aside for an impressive entrance.

"You couldn't have been more sensible and done a sneak-attack from behind," Rude accused, "No, you had to be 'cool' and crash right in the middle of it. You made this mess, you figure a way out."

"Oh sure! You 'n everyone else...just blame it on the punk!" Reno grumbled. He tossed his head away.

Silence again. They listened absent-mindedly to the dull drone of distant machines fill the chilly air. They waited within this dark sanctuary,  
yet knew not for what.

"...what about...him?" ventured Rude suddenly.

"I dunno."

Their attention turned to Rufus. The boy glared mute rage at these forceful kidnappers. Yet the hand remained stiff over his mouth, the grip ever tight.

"...maybe we should...take him with us..," suggested Rude timidly.

"Rude, do you even realize what this MEANS! If word gets out Rufus ShinRa is still alive, there will be riots in the streets! Every lunatic with a grudge will be crashing through our doors to kill him!"

"But we can't just leave him here," he protested, an anxious firmness in his tone, "Maybe we can hide him somewhere until we figure out what to...OOF!"

The abrupt sentence was thus cut short when Rufus suddenly rammed one elbow hard into his captor's stomach. The unexpected blow effectively loosened the loathsome hold, whereby he wrenched himself free.

"Get away from me!" Rufus snapped as he scrambled some steps away,  
"Who.. who do you two think you ARE, anyway!"

Poor Rude rubbed his stomach, more troubled by the boy's evident agitation than the pain. Reno beheld the angry outburst in silence.

"You can't just 'take' me away like I'm some stray animal!" Rufus exclaimed indignantly, "I..w-what do you want from me!"

Rude tried to calm him, "Please Sir, just..."

"I said get away!"

"Alright! Alright! Just take it easy!" intervened Reno, who had grown a bit irritated, "Look, we're not gonna hurt you, Sir, we just.."

"My name isn't 'Sir' or Mr.Presu-presi-whatever! It's Rufus! just Rufus."

Yet both men found this sudden drop of formality too hard to accept.

"You...you want US to call YOU...just 'Rufus'?"echoed Rude in disbelief.

The boy's face darkened to a frown, as if to say "and what's wrong with just 'Rufus'?"

"Okay, okay...Rufus..," agreed Reno, pronouncing the name with cautious emphasis, "Let's try this again. We didn't come all this way to harm you. We actually came here to help you. See, we kinda knew you from before."

He edged a step closer to Rufus, fastening onto his blue eyes despite their harsh, suspicious glare. He had even lifted both palms slightly to prove his sincerity. Amazingly so, Reno looked quite serious.

"Now, I know you're all confused, and we've been dragging you around,  
but you gotta believe us. You're..were President of a mega-sized company called ShinRa Inc., right after your old man was murdered. We were your..ah,  
how do I put this...'special task' team..sorta like personal bodyguards."

The words had a rather peculiar effect on the boy. His expression tensed into muddled confusion; one marked by a vague sense of familiarity, yet that stems from a distant dream, not reality. He said nothing.

"It happened 'round last year. You were here, in Midgar. This huge...thing... this monster attacked the city. It blasted you while you were still in your office...blew everything to smithereens. Everyone left you for dead, and well...things pretty much fell apart after that."

Reno brought his clumsy explanation to a conclusion, "But last night,  
we got a tip that said you might be alive here. So, we came to check it out.  
Just relax, okay? We're not gonna hurt you."

They stood face to face, Rufus torn between suspicion and deep pondering, Reno awaiting some reaction. The uneasy Rude lingered behind without a word; this rocky encounter caused him the most consternation.

In the end, however, Rufus conceded to suspicion.

"I don't believe you," he hissed, glaring straight back at Reno, "All of what you said...it's nonsense!"

"It ain't nonsense!" retorted the man at the very end of his patience,  
"You don't remember 'cause your memory's screwed up! Or maybe living in this dump's made you a loony! but it's true!"

"I don't believe you!"

"Why would I lie to you!"

"Why should I believe some stranger who comes crashing through an air-duct?"

The tone was too insolent to let pass. Reno's eyes flashed real fury,  
whereby he rebutted instantly: he slapped Rufus clean across the face.

It cracked like a whip against his cheek. The hard blow sent the boy's whole head to the side. Rufus was struck mute, his expression blank.  
Needless to say, Rude was horrified.

"You sure got a gratitude problem, you arrogant piece of snot"  
snarled Reno at the boy, "We risked our asses TWICE to save you! The very least you can do is be POLITE!"

"Hey, Reno!" cried Rude in a rare show of outrage.

Reno (who never suspected Rude could raise his voice) blinked back at him, "What?"

"You...you can't just SLAP him like that! He's the PRESIDENT!"

"...WAS the president, you idiot! What's he gonna do, fire me!"

"But still! He's right! You can't expect him to just magically believe everything we say! Calling him a...a...! And hitting him! That's..."

"No...it's okay...," defended Rufus.

The unnatural calmness of his quiet voice brought the dispute to an immediate halt. Both men beheld him in absolute amazement. The boy gazed back with a look so sad, his empty eyes haggard by fatigue. His unkempt hair dangled loose; a very light redness marked the slap on his cheek.

"Aren't you gonna snap back..or even get mad?" marveled Reno.

"...no...I'm used to it..."

His melancholy eyes dropped to the side, "..I lose control of myself a lot. I never mean to...it just comes. When that happens, the guards here give me some...medicine...but it makes me feel worse. So if that doesn't work, they beat me up. It's okay...getting slapped across the face is nothing."

Both men listened to such atrocious treatment in complete silence.  
Reno glared at his guilty hand, then scratched the back of his head rather uncomfortably. Though Reno did mumble something which sounded like an apology, Rude still held onto his anger (at least for a few more minutes).

"...the only person who's never hit me, or even got angry at me.  
is Davoren," Rufus sighed out.

"'Davoren'?" repeated Reno, struck by the unfamiliar name," Who's that?"

"I don't know, really. He visits me from time to time. He's a very strange man...he talks about strange things too," the tired boy pressed one side of his temples, "...but Davoren always makes the pain in my head stop."

Neither the puzzled Reno nor the nervous Rude could even venture a guess to solve this mystery. Rufus sunk into silent dejection, gaze downcast by wretched exhaustion.

The tense awkwardness lingered a long time.

"Shit. This is starting to freak me out," mumbled Reno. He felt too conscious of their grim predicament.

"You'd better run away now," warned Rufus.

"Huh?"

The boy's eyes remained fixed on the ground. But a dull haze had clouded their blueness, contorting his entire face into intense anxiety. His muscles stiffened; his breaths quickened.

"..go...before he finds you," Rufus whispered to no one, "..he'll be very angry if he finds you here..."

The distraught boy hobbled backwards, away from the two baffled men. he didn't see them; he saw some other presence, ominous and ugly.

"Whoa, hey!" started Reno, "W-where are you..."

"..go..or the fire will burn you too...they'll tear you...inside out... and you'll be all...all alone..."

Unmerciful derangement swept over his battered sanity. Rufus suddenly seized his hair by the roots, at the same time trying in vain to stifle the screams of pain. He collapsed to his knees, where he slouched over to hold down the painful spasm. Of course, both men had dashed over at once.

"Sir! Sir! Are you alright!" cried Rude, frantically supporting the boy by the shoulders. Poor Rufus only writhed more.

"What is wrong with this kid!" exclaimed Reno, "He keeps on..."

"DON'T MOVE!" thundered one harsh voice from behind.

Discovery had come too sudden. Both men darted their alarmed attention to the source, Reno preparing for an instant retaliation. However, he stopped short at once: the stern mercenary had locked his deadly gun right on Reno's head, ready to fire at any movement. He had caught them completely off guard.

Reno's face darkened to submissive hatred. He wisely (and slowly)  
lowered his staff. They surrendered.

It didn't take too long before the rest of the mercenaries made the scene. The two intruders and their unfortunate kidnapee were dragged out into the open. The angry guards, eight in all, surrounded them from every direction, their guns aimed right on them.

They had fallen prisoners: Rufus lay doubled over on the ground. He still clutched onto his head, groping for some sanity amidst each sharp pulse. He didn't seem quite aware of the grievous situation. Rude had assumed the protective role. He had crouched down by the boy's side to bar off those guns, but also in an attempt to ease Rufus' agony.

Therefore, Reno was the sole spokesman. He stood upright, palms held up, but expression stone-hard.

The leader of these mercenaries, a bushy-bearded man of scruffy appearance, stepped forward. His rifle was pointed straight at Reno's forehead.

"Who the hell are you? How'd you find this place!" he interrogated sharply, "And what do you want with that crazy kid?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Don't smart-ass me, punk!"

Reno bore his position with hardened dignity. Rude glared all around.

"Damn bastards!" spat one guard,"They killed five men in one run!"

"Argh! Just shoot 'em both!" bellowed another.

"Yeah! They've found us out anyway!"

Neither prisoner spoke, even though they had already guessed the verdict. Indeed, the cry for vengeance was too great. Without further ado, the bearded mercenary reached for the trigger.

"Hold your fire!" boomed a coarse voice from no where.

If God himself had spoken, the effect wouldn't have matched the one this terrible voice had. The mercenaries obeyed at once, their silence a visible sign of tense nervousness. Some lowered their disappointed weapons,  
others (out of caution) kept it loosely aimed at the prisoners.

Both Reno and Rude wondered at such absolute authority. On noticing that all sight had turned over to the side, they followed likewise.

Their eyes led them up a complex network of pipes and girders, which altogether supported a balcony on the upper level. The balcony held this entire scene in full view. It hung in such obscurity high above, barely distinguishable amidst the metalwork and grim darkness.

Yet through the black void above, there peered an ominous pair of yellow eyes, their glare as brilliant as the sun. A closer look revealed some black figure poised at the balcony's edge. It seemed more a phantom of shadow than any human form. But even without a definite shape, its sheer presence there evoked a sinister fear deep within.

Poor Rufus, who lay doubled over in dull pain, somehow managed to peek far up to that ominous figure. He writhed his head back down again, while Rude concernedly crouched further by his side.

"...that's him..," whispered the boy weakly.

"..who?" asked Rude.

"...the Professor..."

No name, no face; simply a title. Reno felt his blood run cold, but nevertheless retained a stern expression. Rude could barely contain his anxiety: events went from bad to worse to hopeless.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" demanded the Professor icily.

"These two intruders somehow busted in here, Professor," explained the bearded mercenary, "They tried to take the kid with 'em...and killed five men!"

The Professor's horrible eyes gleamed over to the two brave prisoners.  
His figure seemed to grow more shapeless, more hideous in that darkness.

Reno, however, would not be intimidated.

"Hey you! Flash-eyes!" he angrily addressed, "You the ring-leader of this little circus!"

The Professor was silent. One of the mercenaries threatened Reno with the muzzle of his gun, but the prisoner still persisted.

"You hiding out here in a top-secret ShinRa facility, with a kid who SHOULD be dead, 'n a bunch of thugs! What the Hell's going on here!"

No reply.

"Who ARE you, anyway!"

The angry questions hung in the stiff air. Reno glared up at those bright eyes in expectation of answers. Rude only looked on very nervously,  
with the distraught boy held down between his arms. Their situation did not look good.

In the end, the Professor was hardly impressed by this outspoken prisoner, much less bothered by his questions. He turned to leave.

"Kill them," he croaked the verdict, "..and dispose of their bodies."

Too glad to oblige, the mercenaries locked onto their two alarmed targets, and prepared to open fire.

The single bullet rang loud in Reno's ears, so sudden it startled his eyes shut. But the gunshot hadn't hit him at all. Indeed, on opening his astonished eyes, he witnessed one mercenary reel aside against a wild gush of blood, then crash face down to the floor.

Someone had saved them just in time.

Instant chaos broke out amongst the stunned mercenaries: loud swears,  
mad scurrying about until one man screamed "Up there!".

Thunderous gunfire erupted at once. Their bombardment blitzed the far end of the ceiling, where a framework of metal girders and supports arched high overhead. No bullets were spared, no cry or curse stifled.

The prisoners found themselves amidst some mini-battle. Rude had immediately huddled over the confused boy, while Reno crouched down on the other side. Though he kept his head ducked low, Reno's eyes darted up to find their mysterious savior.

All at once, he glimpsed some black shadow dash amongst the upper support girders, too fast for even these crazy bullets. The figure lunged into the darker end, where the enraged mercenaries blasted more fiercely. Yet this sniper had chosen his position too well: he was in darkness, high above;  
they were in the light, down below.

Another bullet hit a guard dead on; it sent him sprawling onto the floor. Two more gunshots blasted another enemy, one the shoulder, the next bullseye into the skull. The quick sniper never remained still too long, which made it impossible to pin-point his exact location.

It wasn't until a third man had been killed that the crazed mercenaries broke into disorder. Each one scurried away for cover, all the while blasting away.

"Stop shooting! Hold your fire!" roared their leader savagely,  
"Bastard's hid himself damn good!"

The useless bombardment stumbled to a halt. Each gun remained rigidly pointed up at that ominous framework, but none opened fire.

All fell quiet again. An eternity of tense anticipation.

There was great wonderment at what devil had come to their aid. Reno slowly ventured up to his knees. Rude looked around in amazement, then checked the bewildered Rufus for any injuries. He found none.

During this brief shoot-out, the Professor hadn't retreated from the balcony. Instead, he had stood silent witness from the dark depths of his metal cavern.

However, amidst this eerie tranquility, the Professor slowly twisted his head up to that battered framework. His yellow eyes, two narrow slits of evil, hunted for this brave sniper.

The search didn't last long. As if sensing that keen glare, the sniper finally stepped out from behind his shelter, enough to only reveal half-himself. Through the grimness high above, he appeared a tall, black figure. The deadly gun hung tight in his hand.

Vincent's crimson cold eyes were riveted down on the Professor's. At long last, events had brought the two to meet.

-End of Chp.55

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	53. Chapter 56

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.56 

This tense silence only forewarned of a violent storm. It weighed down upon the entire Reactor: the entangled webwork of pipes and supports; the timid pumps dumped far below in the bottomless pit; all viewed events in mute anticipation. The air was too stiff, too unnatural.

From his position high above, Vincent stood bare across one girder beam for all to behold. Darkness enshrouded his whole body, imposing such cool deadliness to his tall figure, especially that sharp claw. Yet his eyes, a hardened barrier of ice, were fixed straight down on the Professor, and none other.

This Professor. The same whose sheer name evoked sinister dread and wretched misery; a phantom of nothingness. At long last, Vincent could meet him.

But most importantly, he could finally retrieve her from this nightmare. That one desire, to get Aeris back, has always fuelled his fierce determination onwards, more so now that he had met her notorious tormentor.

Those fiery-yellow eyes glared evil back up at him. The Professor remained ever rigid at the metallic balcony, misshapen in black obscurity.  
Though silent, his malicious aura alone told it all: he did not like this intrusion one bit.

The four surviving mercenaries huddled behind their own shelters on high alert. Their guns were aimed at that brave sniper above, but none dared fire, not with four of their comrades already dead in the open. They simply waited.

The rescued prisoners, on the other hand, gazed at their savior in wide awe. Reno had finally climbed back to his feet. Rude stayed squatted on one knee by the boy's side. Still troubled by a milder headache, Rufus sat hunched over with both elbows as support. He gaped up at this unknown figure.

Indeed, all attention rested on that one intruder perched high overhead; a black demon descended from the darkest nightsky.

But in return, Vincent's ice-cold gaze remained fixed on the Professor alone.

"Well, well!" suddenly greeted a voice from nowhere, "Look who's crawled back through the Gates of Hell!"

The voice came clear, dripping in playful malice, but no sign anywhere of the speaker. Nor was there any need. Vincent instantly recognized Davoren's voice.

"But frankly, I'm disappointed in you, Vincent," mocked the gunman,  
"It took you almost six days to find this place. Tsk...too slow!"

The source seemed to emanate from the ceiling metal-joists higher above. Vincent could discern Davoren somewhere up there, almost see that evil grin spread across his face. However, he still could not find him.

"Oh, you want to see your little girl, eh?" chuckled the invisible gunman.

Vincent's muscles stiffened at the mention of Aeris.

"Tell you what then," bargained Davoren, "Hop down from there, and I'll show her to you."

The proposal went by unanswered.

"You DO want to see her, don't you?"

His crimson eyes, bright as two fiery rubies, glared so narrowly at the unseen gunman. As much as he hated to admit, he did want to see Aeris very much, if only to reassure himself of her safety. On the other hand, he would have to descend to the danger zone below. It was his own decision.

The final choice was too obvious.

Although everyone could hear this transaction go on, no one ever interrupted; not even the ominous Professor, who patiently awaited the outcome with cruel eyes. Both Reno and Rude were left to wonder at this mysterious new speaker.

But for some reason, Rufus had been a bit startled to hear Davoren's voice here, more so that venomous tone. His confused eyes searched in vain for the man.

After another moment's reflection, Vincent shoved his reluctant weapon into its holster. Soon began his quick descent downwards, him hoping down rusted pipes or leaping across to lower scaffoldings. All eyes followed him.

At last, the man gracefully landed on both feet directly in view of the high balcony. He stood some steps infront of the three prisoners.  
Vincent's entire countenance bore such frigidity, his eyes hard-set on the haughty Professor above.

The Professor only glowered back. He would not speak.

"Whoa, Vinnie! Talk about excellent timing!" exclaimed the much relieved Reno from behind, "That was...wait a minute. I thought you said you didn't know where this lab was!"

He glared for an immediate explanation. Without looking back at him,  
Vincent coolly replied, "I didn't. I followed you."

"Wha?...'followed'?" Reno paused until it suddenly dawned on him,  
"Hey you! You KNEW we'd come here if ya told us about Rufus!"

"I thought if I...caught your interest, you'd somehow lead me here."

Indeed, their first encounter had been less than amicable. Yet Vincent had easily seen through Reno's hostile denials that there was a secret laboratory somewhere. Nor had he mentioned Rufus ShinRa for no reason either. Therefore, after feigning departure, he had simply waited outside in the shadows. When the two ex-Turks has snuck out to investigate,  
Vincent had followed them here.

In other words, he had tricked them.

"Fuh! You're a lot sneakier than ya look," mumbled Reno resentfully,  
"...damn cripple-vampire..."

Vincent ignored that last comment. Instead, he stole one brief glance back at the boy, who of course tensed on meeting those stone-hard eyes.  
Something in this dark stranger aroused deep confusion.

However, Vincent instantly returned to the invisible gunman high above: he had fulfilled his part of the agreement, now Davoren must keep his.

Where was Aeris?

"Ho ho! Not to worry, Mr. Valentine," reassured the gunman, too amused by that glare, "Your sweet girl...she's right here."

All at once, Davoren dropped from the bleak darkness above onto a lower beam-joist, where he remained squatted down; Aeris was held safe in both arms.

The poor girl was torn to tears between her fear of this great height and this torture. So frightened, she had clung around the gunman's neck,  
and buried her face against his shoulder. Her frail body trembled non-stop.  
She never opened her eyes, but kept them squeezed tight.

Davoren's vicious gaze mocked Vincent alone: it clearly amused him too much to have this tearful girl in his strong grip, while Vincent watched on.

Neither the uneasy Reno nor the anxious Rude spoke, even though they were put on full guard against so malicious a presence.

"Is that man...'Davoren'?" Rude asked the boy nervously.

Rufus seemed to grow all the more perplexed by these events. He nodded once, his muddled eyes always fastened on that terrible gunman.

But the scene belonged to those two men alone, one perched high above like a fiend, the other poised in upright determination. Vincent's cold scowl betrayed all his hatred for this monster, his eyes all his concern for Aeris.

He'd probably never forgive Davoren now. Not after that miserable night; not for drawing him into this Hell-hole with the girl at stake.

This time it would end; one man the victor, the other dead.

And from that guileful smile, Vincent knew the gunman shared his sentiment too.

Terror wrangled the poor girl's senses. She clung all the more to Davoren's neck, fearing she may fall any moment. Gentle sobs escaped her bosom.

"Shh, honey," whispered Davoren evilly as he stroked her loose hair,  
"Go on. Take a look. Your beloved angel's down there."

The mysterious words floated like a dream past her ears. In her confusion, the distraught girl peeked from his shoulder down to the scene below.

She froze on Vincent at once. That one face, so preciously dear to her, stirred too many emotions inside: Intense anxiety, distress, fear; all showed clear on her expression, with tears still fresh on her pallid cheeks.

"Heh heh...told you he'd come," Davoren breathed into her ear, "When that man makes a vow, he never breaks it."

So true. Not only had Vincent somehow survived, but had ventured straight into this peril. There he stood below, tall in his long black overcoat,  
face marble-cold, crimson eyes fixed back on her.

She wished he hadn't come. In her mind, she still saw him crash to his death, even blood sprout out against a cruel bullet. She could never bear it again. Instead, she silently implored he escape before this hell swallowed him too.

Vincent read her every thought. But then, just as Davoren had predicted, he had pledged his solemn vow, and would never break it.

For a moment, Davoren scanned over the other prisoners lingering behind their savior. Reno tensed; he didn't trust that look.

"..hello? And who might those two be? New friends?" the gunman wondered aloud. He didn't look at Rufus, even though he probably discerned those troubled eyes riveted on him.

"Davoren," called the Professor suddenly.

"Yes Sir," he obeyed.

Davoren acted at once. Gripping the frightened girl more securely, he leapt off the beam-joist, far down onto a rigid airduct. As gracefully as a monkey, Davoren hopped another level downwards, where he landed feet first infront of Vincent.

A few meters separated the two enemies. Vincent glared at Davoren,  
whose grin still retained good-humor. He propped poor Aeris onto her shaky feet. Yet far from releasing her, the callous gunman held her ever close inside his open trenchcoat. One whole arm lay casually dropped over her shoulder and down across her tense bosom.

Though quite relaxed, this loathsome captivity nevertheless terrified Aeris to tearful silence. Her miserable green eyes stared straight at Vincent.

The three remaining mercenaries and their bearded leader scurried out of their shelters. They surrounded these brave intruders immediately.  
Every gun was aimed in alert readiness.

Vincent's cold glare remained on Davoren alone. From their place behind, both ex-Turks uncomfortably watched events unfold. Rufus still remained slouched on both knees, his troubled gaze fixed on this gunman. He seemed to implore an explanation.

Yet the gunman never returned his look. Nor would he speak anymore. He stood the perfect hound dog, meek prey in his grip, and his master perched high above.

"Mr. Valentine," came a venomous voice.

All attention turned up to that hideous figure at the balcony, the Satan of this inferno. The Professor finally shuffled from his spot. He strolled along the balustrade, never once lifting his glare off Vincent.

"..Mr.Vincent Valentine..," he hissed out as if tasting that name.

Vincent's back stiffened, yet he held himself firm. No one breathed a word.

The Professor soon reached the end of the balcony, where he descended a broken staircase to the scene below. His steady footsteps echoed nearer as he approached the prisoners. Those yellow eyes shone malice at Vincent.

"Yes...it is you," confirmed the Professor, "..after all these years...Mr. Valentine."

What emerged from that darkness resembled a nightmare stepping into reality. The Professor stood in plain view for all to behold, with scrawny arms tied behind his back, and chin turned up.

A long, stunned silence followed.

Vincent delved back a moment into his memory: he saw a madman there,  
cackling wildly as that bio-poison diffused through his blood. An ingenious lunatic in life, a complete demon in battle. That man had perished long ago.

Yet here stood that same fiend, worse than any foul corpse arisen from the dead. It was him: Professor Hojo.

The beastliness shone through despite his loathsome human demeanor.  
Hojo was sickly gaunt; a skeleton wrapped in slimy-green skin that twitched under each breath. His narrow, reptilian eyes gleamed over cracked spectacles. Those wild black forelocks exaggerated his high forehead too much, with a ravaged ponytail behind.

Age certainly showed on Hojo. He was a withered old man now, face all creased by wrinkles, especially around the eyes. Both his dirty whiskers and bristly chin looked as though nibbled by rats.

Putrid fumes of chemicals clung like a disease to his body. He wore an open tattered lab-coat. His collar had been torn open to reveal a purple vein branching up along his neck, while the tragic remains of a tie hung loose.

Such a grotesque creature. Its presence evoked deep dread, if not ominous disgust. This monstrosity was Professor Hojo.

Aeris gaped in horror at the scientist from behind. The sight sent shivered down her spine. Davoren hadn't reacted to Hojo's appearance.  
Instead, he maintained his position as Aeris' captor. Similarly, the guards remained fixed on their targets.

Needless to say, both Reno and Rude were dumbstruck by this unexpected revelation. But Rufus had already shrunk back in visible tension.

"..P..Professor...Hojo!" fumbled Rude in shock.

The scientist cast a cool, almost bored, look towards the three prisoners.

"Ah yes. I seem to recall your faces from somewhere," he acknowledged.  
He terrible gaze then fell on Rufus, "You've renewed your acquaintance with the boy. Quite a mental mess, eh?"

The two ex-Turks stiffened. Rude automatically crouched further by Rufus' side to protect him from those sinister eyes. However, Hojo soon lost interest in these men. He turned to Vincent again.

Vincent's entire countenance had assumed such frigidity. Even after thirty-one years, there still remained a hostility between these two men; so bitter everyone could feel it.

"I see you have survived, Professor Hojo," greeted Vincent, his calm tone colder than ice.

The Professor's mouth twisted into a smug grin, one that fully revealed his jagged fangs. He adjusted his broken specs.

"Indeed, Mr. Valentine. That confrontation had left me in a grievous state for some time afterwards," he conceded, "But JENOVA cells have proven themselves to be far more...resilient."

He grinned all more, obviously pleased with his survival.

"And so, Mr.Valentine. Here we are..thirty-one years later"

Vincent suppressed any reply least it might be a curse.

"Heh! I must admit, Sir, you've managed yourself quite well thus far...considering your feeble condition and such. Very impressive."

At those mocking words, Vincent felt an evil force caress his lungs just once; an ominous reminder that despite his determination, Hojo still reigned over his "illness". Nevertheless, Vincent stood his ground.

"I was quite displeased with Davoren's dismal failure to capture you.  
However, he did assure me you'd eventually come here. He also assured me you'd prove yourself to be rather.  
unco-operative."

Hojo's mean glare narrowed as he hissed out, "But you will soon discover, Sir, that all your efforts would have been in vain. You cannot fight your destiny."

It was a warning for all to hear: that no one could ever thwart his  
plans. The gunman stood poised some distance behind his master. He held distraught Aeris against himself without a tinge of emotion. On the opposite side, the prisoners lingered silent spectators.

Vincent's ice-cold visage never wavered. With calm firmness, he stated, "I did not come here to fight you, Professor."

"Ah then! You've come here to surrender?"

"No. I've come to take Aeris back with me."

Those resolute words somehow sounded better than any joke. The Professor exploded at once into cruel cackling, his whole head tossed far back.  
Even Davoren couldn't help but smirk.

Vincent, however, was silent amidst this uproarious laughter. Aeris shivered to the very core from fear.

"Ha ha ha! You have the audacity to make such foolish declarations,  
Mr.Valentine, especially to my face!" exclaimed Hojo outloud.

A stern arrogance replaced his good-humor. He glared hard at this brave man, "This specimen belongs to me. I will never relinquish my hold on her. Her place is here...to fulfill her part in the experiment. As is for you, Mr.Valentine. You and Mr. Davoren: both my specimens..my creations.  
All for my experiment!"

Vincent had expected such stubbornness. But before he could reply,  
Rufus' tense voice suddenly interrupted, "..experiment?"

All sight turned to the boy, who had hitherto remained slouched on the floor, stone-mute. He now stood up.

"Yes, have you anything to say?" demanded Hojo.

Stark anxiety strained the boy's face as he forced out, "...this experiment...jeh...JENOVA Project: AdM-Genesis Retrial Experiment?"

"Correct. That is its proper title."

The amount of confusion in the two ex-Turks could not be described,  
nor the keen interest in Vincent's eyes as he beheld this young lunatic.

"Okay! Time out!" cried Reno, thereby winning everyone's attention,  
"Would someone like to maybe explain what is going on here! There are THREE people here who're supposed to be dead, one of them's a friggin'  
green zombie! And what's this 'Geni-Retro' thingy!"

"It is an experiment I have designed...my ultimate gift to science advancement," answered Hojo self-importantly, "JENOVA Project: Genesis Retrial."

"What 'experiment', Professor?" Vincent cut short, "JENOVA Project finished long ago."

"Hah!"

That brusque snub, spat with such venom, enforced a stiff silence upon all present, especially Vincent.

"But why should I bother explaining?" scoffed the scientist as he folded both arms, "I could talk all night, and none of you would understand a single word..what with your pathetic knowledge of biochemistry,  
cytology, neurology, genetics, anatomy, and a string of other advanced fields."

No one spoke, except for Reno who mumbled aside, "..I can't even spell half those words..."

"Davoren, explain it to them," commanded Hojo.

"Yes, Professor."

Such absolute obedience. Davoren's whole demeanor dropped at once from pleasant to cool business. His gaze locked on Vincent alone. Never once did the gunman look at Rufus.

Thus began the recital of Professor Hojo's experiment.

-End of Chp.56

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	54. Chapter 57

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.57 

"JENOVA Project: Genesis Retrial Experiment- class AdM (highly classified). Since the dawn of human history, man has been too aware of his inferiority compared to God. It is forever engrained into his conscience: man is insignificant, weak, ignorant, and flawed."

The strange introduction had its listeners leaden by heavy silence.  
Vincent's mistrust of this entire situation intensified further,  
especially whenever he glanced at Hojo's wily grin.

Davoren continued on. His flat tone showed how well he knew this topic, "God, on the other hand, symbolizes what man dreams of but can never attain: omnipotence, knowledge, mastery. An entity of perfection fit to reign above all creation."

"Though man may struggle an eternity, he will never reach the supremacy of God. The gap is far too wide; the power too great to grasp."

"But if such a gap could somehow be traversed...for a worthless human to ascend to an almighty God...then this supreme being will be true master of the Planet and all heavens above. The superior human."

"Professor Hojo has designed an experiment that would elevate man to such status. Hence the name 'Genesis', or birth of a God."

"However, such a feat has already been performed thirty-one years ago.  
There has been a human who ascended to a God."

Vincent's cool voice tightened as he breathed,"..Sephiroth."

"Correct. The fruit of the JENOVA project," agreed the callous gunman,  
"A creation in the image of man, yet brimming with the powers of a God,  
molded by science alone. That creation deserves to be master."

Indeed, JENOVA project had spawned a heartless demon thirty-one years ago: Sephiroth, "the son of JENOVA". A god in his own right, who destroyed life in the name of eternal power. Yes, all these mad words sounded familiar to Vincent.

"But the JENOVA Project finished long ago. It was Sephiroth's birth"  
argued Vincent.

"No, it didn't," intervened Hojo haughtily. All eyes turned to that green-skinned monstrosity, "That experiment was merely to test whether human and JENOVA cells can co-exist in one organism. If the dosage is made correctly, then it becomes possible. Sephiroth and myself are the proof. However, that experiment was only a vital springboard to the true  
goal of JENOVA Project."

Then there was more to this hateful project?

Though Vincent dreaded the reply, he nevertheless inquired, "And what may that be?"

"Why, the same purpose it always was, Mr.Valentine," patronized Hojo,  
"We try to create an almighty God. We've done it once, we'll do it again.  
This is 'Retrial'."

At last, the final answer to this twisted riddle. Every muscle in Vincent's body stiffened; that sinister answer sent a chill down his spine. His suspicious eyes tensed keenly on Professor Hojo.

Yet it seemed only these two bitter adversaries understood each other.  
Poor Aeris, silent in her tears, stood held back against Davoren. Up till now, none of the other prisoners had spoken a word.

"...um...what does all that mumbo-jumbo mean in normal language?" the confused Reno pleaded. He spoke for his group.

Without even glancing behind, Vincent obliged one concise explanation,  
"They want to create another Sephiroth."

Straight to the point, spoken with such composure, yet what impact!  
Neither Reno nor Rude could retain their stark shock at this sudden revelation. So great, their wide eyes darted in between these two enemies.

Vincent stood his ground against this hateful creature so arrogantly perched infront. His dark demeanor had already shifted from stoicism to stern contempt.

Professor Hojo had enough hatred to show. The evil words slithered out of his twisted mouth, "Very good, Mr.Valentine. That is the purpose of 'Genesis Retrial': to make another God. However, this next Sephiroth will be the 'perfected' version."

"...'perfected' version?"

"Yes!" he retorted, "Yes..but instead of combining human and JENOVA cells...we'll fuse Cetra and JENOVA together. If my theory proves correct, the end result will be phenomenal!"

Vincent could say nothing; deep disgust clogged his throat.

"Combining those two races will yield a godlike creation," resumed Davoren, thereby attracting attention again, "But still. There will be certain flaws. That's where WE come in. Professor Hojo has altered our bodies to be 'correcting fragments'. We'll fine-tune this next Sephiroth to his full potential."

Davoren's face lacked emotion save strict business. His pink eyes held Vincent's gaze in cool reserve, "Sephiroth certainly possessed unparalleled strength and ability. But even HE would age with time, and eventually lose his youthful strength."

"Whereas we never age," Vincent completed the sentence.

"Correct. We're both blessed with the full strength of youth as long as we live. Thirty-one years have passed, neither of us has aged a wrinkle."

The three prisoners behind, especially the mute Rufus, gaped in open disbelief.

"..th..'thirty-one years'?" fumbled Rude.

"That's nuts!" exclaimed Reno aloud, "You'd have to be... I dunno...sixty right now if you..."

"Sixty-two, actually," the gunman smiled weakly. He continued despite that interruption, "Another flaw of Sephiroth: despite his great power, he could still become vulnerable to physical damage, as well as pain. Both factors have detrimental effects on ability. Finally, Sephiroth most certainly possessed enormous powers hidden within himself...an untapped reservoir of uncontrollable, raw power he couldn't access."

Davoren's whole face lit up to cruel pleasure; his devilish grin showed it all, "Think of it, Vincent! Just imagine: when JENOVA and Cetra merge into one, with us to perfect the union...what kind of supreme being will it create?"

Vincent hated to imagine. Indeed, a demon more powerful than Sephiroth would emerge; its veins flowing with both JENOVA, a destructive alien life-form, and Cetra, the long-extinct masters of the Planet. This same devil would never age, remain invincible, and house an explosive source of monstrous power behind a human guise...power well beyond control.

Finally, the puzzle pieces fitted into one whole picture: a God. Vincent recalled his interrogation of Davoren that miserable night.  
The artful bastard had joked about reviving Sephiroth, he just didn't mention which part was the joke.

But now, the most obvious question hung in the stiff air.

"And how do you plan on merging all these components into one"  
inquired Vincent dryly.

"Oh that. That's the easy part," chuckled Davoren with a wave of the hand, "We're killed, and our cells are all assimilated together into one.  
It's all genetics, my friend."

Somehow, Davoren found this news quite humorous. His pleasant smile expressed such affability, even though his strong arm had never fell off the frightened Aeris. Yet far from any amusement, Vincent's expression remained stone-hard. His keen mind still sought to fully grasp this insane "experiment".

He just happened to glance over at Aeris, who all this time had stood trapped within Davoren's coat, her tearful green eyes strained by anguish. Doubtful the poor girl had understood much of this lengthy discourse.  
All she grasped was that this nightmare of a Professor would never release her, and that if Vincent did not escape now, he would be killed.

His resolute eyes told her: whatever be the consequences, I will not leave here without you.

"Okay! Lemme get this straight!" boomed Reno suddenly into the discussion, "Professor Screwball over there has an experiment he wants to try. First, he messes up two guys, then does himself, and then grabs hold of that Cetra girl. Now, he's gonna fuse all those different cells into one person, and make some 'God' or another Sephiroth. Is that it?"

Davoren and the Professor exchanged a meaningful look before Hojo conceded, "In such crude vocabulary, yes. That is roughly the experiment."

When his simple summary proved correct, Reno's fury exploded at once,  
"Man, what kind of sick-minded psychopath ARE you! You can't go screwing around with people like that! 'Ultimate gift to science advancement,  
my ass!"

His anger then shifted to the calm gunman, "And YOU, Albino-man! You just blindly obey this bastard? Didn't you just hear yourself? He's gonna kill ya for some warped experiment, and you still.."

"I don't care."

Davoren's curt rebuttal struck Reno dumb.

"Once my body was altered, it automatically became full property of this experiment," stated the gunman indifferently, "My life belongs to the Professor now. Whether it is taken or spared does not concern me."

He paused a moment before adding rather contemptuously, "And for your information, sonny, I'm not an albino."

Silence fell again. Vincent beheld this man; that expressionless face and empty pink eyes. The picture of a slave well accustomed to lowly servitude.

This absolute obedience pleased Professor Hojo. A smug grin creased across his face. He held Vincent alone in imperious contempt, with both scrawny arms folded across his chest. His aura reeked of malice.

Vincent's icy visage never faltered, not even as he pleaded,  
"Professor, if such an experiment were carried out, it could spawn a devil more destructive and unstable than ten Sephiroths combined."

"You think I will stop NOW after all these long years of toil and preparation!" fumed Hojo, "Our course is clear! It is time to prove we were all MEANT to merge into one ultimate entity..one GOD!"

No one spoke.

"Yes! A creation molded by MY own genius...MINE ALONE!" the crazed demon spluttered against an invisible audience. His eyes bulged wide with choler, "They all deemed that fool Gast the greatest scientist! But let this experiment be my testament: I am ten..no...a HUNDRED times the better scientist! I have created a GOD!"

By the time Hojo finished, his brash voice had crackled into a breathless bellow. Unforgiving fury raged through his entire demeanor. Stern brows knit his brilliant eyes together. That purple vein had popped further up his neck until one thought it would burst.

Vincent gazed back unaffected by the outburst.

It took Hojo another moment to subdue his raging gasps. He licked the purple saliva off the corner of his mouth, then faced his main enemy again.

"And so, Mr.Valentine," he hissed with forced calmness, "You appreciate the reason I've altered your body. Be as wise as Mr. Davoren, and fulfill your true purpose to the experiment."

"I refuse," came Vincent's reply loud and firm.

The Professor regarded this resistance as an open challenge to his authority. His frown darkened into an ominous scowl. Not like it bothered Vincent. Hojo may have control over his lungs, but he had enough determination to match.

"I have no interest in fulfilling any purpose in your 'experiment,  
Professor Hojo. Nor have I come here to fight you. I have only come here to take Aeris back."

Vincent's tone dropped to deadly iciness as he added, "Restore her to me now, and I will leave."

In other words, he would fight if need be just to get the girl back.

Tense anticipation lingered upon this awkward moment, everyone too aware of its presence. Strangely however, a mocking smile crept across Hojo's thin lips as his reptilian eyes narrowed down.

"'Aeris', eh?" he snorted outloud, "I see you've given her a name. How charming."

He tied his two arms behind before starting a slow pace towards the much affrighted girl. His thoughtful gaze, however, flickered their evil on the ground.

"Yes, Davoren has informed me how...fond you've grown of protecting this girl. But I fear, my good Sir, you've been wasting your efforts on an image."

The word certainly struck the listeners as quite odd, especially to Vincent, who felt another ominous suspicion creep up. Had he seen Aeris, he would have noticed how greatly alarmed she had become.

"What do you mean 'an image'?" demanded Vincent.

Hojo took his time to answer. He haughtily adjusted his broken specs as he twisted his head aside, if only to cast a derisive glare behind at the man.

"This isn't the real 'Aeris'," he scoffed, "That girl is long dead. This one is her clone."

-End of Chp.57

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	55. Chapter 58

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.58 

This was her clone.

Her clone.

Clone.

What did that mean?

Despite all her pitiful attempts, poor Aeris could not grasp that one word. It sounded so simple, but now her whole world seemed to hang on its meaning. The premonition was far too strong. In her frantic anxiety,  
she fixed on Professor Hojo (even though her own mind implored she cover both ears and look away).

A new light had been shed upon her mysterious origin. Now it emerged as a most ugly truth: the real Aeris had always been dead. That girl over there, held by a stoic Davoren, was only her clone.

Silence weighed a ton upon all those present. The two ex-Turks simply gaped at a loss for words. Vincent stood rigidly overwhelmed. Indeed, it took some struggle just to grapple this new revelation.

Hojo still faced away from the prisoners. However, his head remained twisted aside just to cast that insolent glare on Vincent. His superior air snubbed him to the dirt.

"..clone..," Vincent mumbled the distasteful word.

"Yes," affirmed Professor Hojo, "I have created a clone of that Cetra female. This is her."

To further assert his claim, the cruel scientist returned his attention to Aeris, who gave a violent start as he slowly approached her. This gaunt waste of an old man only towered a few inches above her. But his sheer presence, with those reptilian eyes, pierced her to the core. He now stood right before her.

Hojo derived a cruel pleasure from studying her meek figure. Heedless to her alarm, he lifted Aeris' delicate chin with one scaly hand for a closer inspection; so close she could smell his foul breath.

"A true beauty, eh?" leered the monster at her while addressing Vincent behind, "She's the perfect image of 'Aeris'. Everything has been duplicated to the last gene...a flawless re-creation of the last Cetra."

The sight of Hojo's filthy touch on Aeris' lovely face angered Vincent more than those words. Luckily, Hojo flung her back against Davoren's chest, then faced the prisoners again.

"Oh, come now!" he laughed, "Surely you didn't think this was the real Cetra-female!"

Vincent reflected a moment. His memory raced back to that first night this girl had come crashing into him, lost and frightened out of her wits. It had never made sense. For this girl to rush out of nowhere, when in fact she should be lying dead at the bottom of a lake.

"I admit...at first, I doubted this girl could be the same Aeris"  
mused Vincent more to himself, "Aeris had been stabbed clean through the chest by Sephiroth's sword. There simply was no chance of her survival."

His gaze narrowed, "However, how could this girl be a clone? My knowledge of genetics is quite limited, but I do know you cannot clone someone without a sample of original cells."

"Who says I didn't have an original sample?" sneered Hojo through a hideous grin.

Though Vincent's interest heightened to ominous dread, he nonetheless listened on. All eyes followed Hojo as he began to pace around again.

"Back when I still worked for ShinRa Inc., the company had once managed to capture that Cetra female," he recalled, "I took a sample of her cells:  
a fully-detailed genome analysis, with ample quantities of cells frozen in bio-stasis for...'special purposes'"

He propped one hand on his hip as his pace deadened to a halt. His cracked glasses flashed yellow malice at Vincent alone.

"Naturally, I intended to use the real female for this experiment.  
However, she was later rescued by her friends, and much to my further annoyance, killed. This meant I had no Cetra anymore...that is until I remembered those cells."

"So you cloned her," Vincent spat resentfully.

"Yes."

Vincent felt his blood boil under his cool visage. This monster stooped to any level for his experiment, even if it meant disgracing the dead. It all made sense now. Professor Hojo had no Cetra, so he created one, and kept her thus until needed.

Then this girl was not "Aeris". It was not the same vivacious girl whose smile had always uplifted those around her; not the same who had bravely sacrificed her own life for the Planet, or who was lain to rest at the bottom of a crystal-blue lake.

No. Vincent had not come for Aeris. He had come for her clone.

"...c-clone..?" fumbled a soft, weak voice.

All sight instantly shifted around to Aeris. She had hitherto remained stone-silent.

The pitiful girl stood petrified with fear. Behind her, Davoren kept a loose grip around her without any expression. Her eyes, a turbulent green sea of confusion, gaped wide at Professor Hojo. Her frantic heartbeats clogged her ears. Too many emotions skittered about her bosom.

She only understood one thing: this mysterious word "clone" bore enough significance to shatter her.

"..but...what...what does that mean?" she pleaded. Only Professor Hojo could answer.

"It means you are not the real 'Aeris'. You're just her image."

"...image..."

Anxiety sickened her senses to near faintness: an image. How often in her darkest nightmares had that word chased her until she woke up crying?  
Whenever she had peered into that horrible mirror, she never found herself, only an empty silver facade.

Aeris' ordeal swelled further amidst this mad whirlpool. Her clasped hand trembled above her heart.

"An artificial memory was developed for you," continued Hojo, "For example, you can read, speak, and express ideas. It makes everything easier. But you have no personal memory of your past, because you never had a past."

Her identity hung by a very fine thread, one which would be cut any moment. Hope clashed against hope as she battled for an alternate explanation; some way to prove this news false: she couldn't be some filthy copy of another person! It was impossible!

When reason failed, she clung to denial.

"No! That's not true!" she cried, "I...I'm not an image!"

Hojo's icy gaze belittled her, "You are an image my dear. I created you. I breathed life into your body."

"No! No! I AM Aeris!"

"You are not."

"I AM!" she shrieked just to block out his hateful hiss, "I have a scar on my chest! When I first met Vincent, he had to change my dirty clothes!  
He saw it!"

"...'scar'?" echoed the baffled Hojo. He glanced at Davoren for an explanation.

"I believe she is referring to the tube marks...from the Accelerator,  
Professor," guessed the gunman.

Aeris blinked, completely dumbstruck by this strange observation.  
Neither words nor concept took meaning in her stunned mind. Regardless,  
Professor Hojo expelled one contemptuous snort, then turned his head back towards Vincent.

"Mr.Valentine," he demanded loudly, "You say Aeris was stabbed through the chest with a sword."

No reply.

"Have you seen this girl's 'scar'?"

He paused before muttering, "...I have."

"Tell me, Sir, is her 'scar' from a sword?"

Here came the moment of truth. The entire Reactor braced itself for the answer. Everyone's focus centered on him: Hojo poised upfront in mighty haughtiness; both prisoners and the boy mute in the background; and Davoren's frigid gaze fixed on the scene. Vincent alone would finalize this tedious matter.

But inside, the man only felt Aeris' turmoil. She just wanted the truth.

"No," Vincent forced out softly, "Her 'scar' was far too small...too neat to be from a sword. It looked more like...a closed slit."

Aeris' blood ran cold, with wretched eyes still locked on Vincent. Her fate was sealed now. The proof had worked against her.

Vincent's eyes darkened to an embittered glow, but it remained cast down. He had spoken true, however much he despised it.

Hojo, on the other hand, beamed delightedly at his easy victory. He returned to Aeris. His gaze mocked her pain outright.

"You see, my darling," he chuckled, "you were developed inside a special amniotic incubator known as a 'Growth Accelerator'. While you were developing, tubes were hooked directly to your body: muscles, heart,  
brain, spine, lungs. Those tubes administered chemical substances that sped your growth rate to adulthood. Of course, those tubes left marks ALL OVER your body, but soon faded away."

So many revelations overwhelmed the poor girl, "..b..but.."

"that 'scar' on your chest has already disappeared. It just took a bit longer to fade. After all, you are only ten months old in real time."

The final blow. Aeris' face paled to ghostly whiteness. Horror seized her by the roots. It mocked her whole existence as one hilarious joke.  
Could she really be a misshapen creature of no substance?

She still clung to the futile hope this would all be a nightmare. She couldn't bear this: not the fiendish Professor dissecting her ugly past before her own eyes; not Vincent listening to every loathsome detail.  
She wanted everything to just disperse into the night.

But the thoughts hammered her non-stop: no wonder she couldn't remember "her" past. Those precious memories belonged to another person...a real person. She was just her clone...a clone...not real...a clone...

"..I...I don't believe you!" Aeris exploded in a passion against the Professor, "This can't be true! It can't! I don't..have any memories..but..but..I couldn't have been living a lie this whole time!  
I AM Aeris! All of what you say are lies! LIES!"

The Professor would not tolerate her pitiful outburst. In one violent swing of the hand, he struck Aeris across the face, so hard it knocked her to the ground with a sharp shriek. Vincent's muscles tensed under stifled rage. Yet now she lay sprawled upon all fours, down by Hojo's dirty shoes, while Davoren stoically watched on.

"You are a hollow piece of cellular garbage I constructed for an experiment!" snarled the vicious scientist over her sobs, "That's not your face! That's not your body! That's not your life! It all belongs to another person!"

His brash voice stabbed her heart like daggers, every word a curse upon her existence. The pitiful girl struggled to get up, with her loose hair dangling in thick curls on one side. She dared not glance up: she feared to see Vincent...how hideous she must appear to him now!

"'Aeris' isn't even your name! You HAVE no name!" bellowed Hojo mercilessly, "Your specimen code is A-25! A random letter and number!  
Nothing more!"

The longer he beheld this broken-hearted girl, the greater Hojo's irritation grew. To degrade her further, he thrust one heavy foot against her shoulder, then shoved her hard to the ground, where she lay curled up on her side. Poor Aeris never resisted, not even opened her tearful eyes.

"You belong to me and no one else," the Professor staked his claim for all, especially her, to hear, "Mine and mine alone! I brought you into existence for one purpose: the experiment! otherwise, you're worthless!  
Garbage! An image!"

He had destroyed her beyond redemption. His terrible voice had shattered her entire dreamworld to broken fragments. It all collapsed around her.  
Now cruel reality laughed loud at her misery. All gone...nothing but darkness.

She was a clone. She had robbed another girl's identity to suit herself, when in fact she had risen from some horrid machine stuffed with tubes.  
What an abhorrent creature she was! She deserved every torture she got!

"...for an experiment..," Aeris acceded to defeat.

Another easy victory. Most contemptuous of her sad ordeal, Professor Hojo stepped away from Aeris. Both arms were tied like a knot behind his back. His stone-hard visage never winced.

Davoren automatically pulled the shattered girl up to her shaky feet again. However, this time he held her closer against himself.  
Devastated to numbness, Aeris simply nestled her pale face against this man's chest,  
and started into nothingness, as if watching "her" life fade to oblivion.  
Hot tears flooded her eyes.

"..th..then..all this time...I've been pretending to be someone else"  
she whimpered.

The girl cringed further against the gunman, "When I thought I was real...when I looked into the mirror...but saw no one there...it's because I was the image?...for an experiment?"

"I see you understand at last," commended Hojo scornfully.

Pain heaved upon her all at once. A cascade of bitter emotions to drown her forever. So much grief, all too heavy for this fragile soul to carry.  
Now she understood: she was nothing but Hojo's rag-doll, a toy for him to enjoy however he pleased.

And of all people, Vincent had witnessed her pathetic degradation. No doubt she disgusted him now, an empty piece of garbage like herself;  
she disgusted herself!

At last, Aeris burst into loud, hysterical tears. Her pitiful wail filled the Reactor.

This ridiculous display enraged Hojo more than the first. He swung around to strike Aeris again, this time with redoubled force. She hid her face immediately. However, the reaction came at once: Davoren not only stopped Hojo's hand midway, but had also hugged the frightened girl tighter against himself. The Professor glared in a mixture of anger and surprise.

"Pardon me, Professor," intervened Davoren, "If you strike her again,  
you could damage her skull."

He was, after all, in charge of the Professor's specimens. But whether that reason alone had motivated Davoren or not, he held Hojo's icy glower with perfect composure. Aeris was nevertheless terrified into silence.  
She peeked over her trembling shoulder at this monster.

Though resentful, Hojo conceded to his henchman's reasonable protest.  
He wrenched his hand free as he returned to face the prisoners. Soon, his bad mood uplifted at once.

"Well, Mr.Valentine," he mocked cruelly, "Perhaps now you see your stupidity for protecting such a miserable wretch... hehehehe..."

Vincent had borne himself with stiff calmness throughout the entire scene. But now, dark hatred overcast his whole face; a harsh crimson glare under knit brows. If looks could kill, Hojo would have dropped dead.

There seemed nothing more to say. So, the scientist turned to leave.

"Professor!" cried Rufus' tense voice suddenly.

Hojo automatically stopped. He cast a long, indifferent look behind at the boy. In a sudden wake of realization, Rufus had ventured some steps ahead of the two ex-Turks (who were quite alarmed by his bravery). He now stood near Vincent's side. Both anxiety and dread troubled his face.

"Ho, You've been very quiet all this time," remarked Hojo,  
"What is it?"

"Those two men told me...that I was supposed to have died in some explosion," fumbled the boy with eyes hard-set on the scientist,  
"Am..am I like that girl? Am I a 'clone' too"  
The Professor let out an insolent guffaw, "No. You are Rufus ShinRa,  
former President of ShinRa Inc. The fact that you have a memory proves it (however enfeebled it may be). You should have perished in that explosion, but I saved you."

"If that's true, then WHY?"

The question certainly opened another mystery. Vincent's ice-cool gaze beheld the young man from the side for a moment, then returned to the Professor.

"Yeah!" voiced Reno from behind, "You blabbed on about your screwy experiment, but never mentioned Rufus once! If he's not part of this,  
then why'd ya.."

"Oh, but he IS very much part of this," interrupted Hojo. His vicious gaze shone brighter on the confounded boy, "Rufus ShinRa is the one who links this whole experiment together. He holds the key to its success."

"What the hell does that mean...'key'?" demanded Rude coldly. He mistrusted that look.

Vincent reflected upon himself in rigid silence.

But Reno reached one possible answer. It literally startled him to fury, "Ah! Y-you bastard! So HE'S the guinea pig! You're gonna infuse all that cell shit into RUFUS!"

Perhaps yes, perhaps no. In either case, Hojo left them with an enigmatic smile. He would not reply.

The Professor decided to end this discussion. With incredible nimbleness, he leapt back up onto the metallic balcony high above, as Satan would ascend his hellish throne. He left everyone to wonder below, while he stood cross-armed at the balustrade.

"I've wasted enough precious time on you miserable lot," sneered the scientist, "...Davoren!"

The gunman understood the command. He snapped his fingers once.

Vincent anticipated instant danger.

The prisoners suddenly became too aware of their situation. That snap had signaled their execution, whereby all four mercenaries now shuffled to obey. Soon, they prepared to fire.

Poor Aeris raised a pitiful cry of horror. Maddened to more tears, she tried to rush towards Vincent, if not at least reach out towards him:  
she saw him dead in a pool of blood...just like that night! The same murder all over again!

But every effort proved futile. Davoren easily swept her against her will, and dragged her away with him. Vincent's intense gaze rested on her alone.

No sooner had the gunman began his retreat, then Rufus called after him, "Davoren, wait!"

But Davoren ignored him without even glancing behind. Instead, he coldly ordered, "Don't shoot the boy. Take him back to his cellar when you're done."

"Yes Sir!" snapped the obedient guards.

The brusque dismissal troubled Rufus' even more. Something seemed horribly wrong here.

It didn't matter now. Gruesome death awaited them, with both ex-Turks searching in vain for some possible escape. Under such grim doom,  
Vincent's quick mind raced to formulate any plan... some distraction...perhaps then he could make a break for it.

Suddenly, his focus narrowed over on Rufus again.

"Run for it," he muttered to the two confounded men behind.

The move indeed shocked everyone enough to win Vincent a few precious seconds. With such deadly-swiftness, he struck hard against the base of Rufus' neck, knocking the stunned boy unconscious almost instantly.

Vincent hardly waited for the reaction: not for Reno to yell "HEY"  
or Davoren to swing around at peak alarm. All his demonic speed exploded at once. Vincent darted away from the scene, at the same time slinging the lifeless boy onto one shoulder.

In short, he had kidnapped Rufus.

All Hell broke loose. The uproarious mercenaries opened full fire after this slippery fugitive. Insane gunshots blasted the floor under his feet; they sparked off the iron railings into the cold air. But over all this crazy bombardment, Vincent pursued one headlong dash straight for Davoren. His stern resolve never wavered off the mark.

The incredible charge caught Davoren completely off guard. He was so stunned by Vincent's mad speed (and of course the unconscious Rufus,  
the gunman hadn't time to even yank out his own gun. Likewise, Aeris gaped wide-eyed.

It only took another blink before Vincent was right infront of him,  
still lunging at full force. Davoren simply blanked out.

Yet far from any attack, Vincent instead made one unbelievable leap high, high over their heads up into the air, with angry mercenaries still rushing after him. Davoren barely recovered his shock, at least fast enough to narrowly evade the wild gunshots. He hid Aeris safe within his trenchcoat.  
His suspicious glare followed Vincent upwards: why hadn't he attacked?

The frenzied bullets zinged after their graceful target, even as he flew up the iron pipes faster than a monkey. He held onto Rufus with his metallic claw.

Hojo's erratic screams for blood mixed into the chaos. Vincent nevertheless leapt up straight past the metallic balcony, then flipped across onto a rusted pipe. It shattered just after he rebounded off it,  
whereby he flipped again further up onto a bulky tank fitted against the brick wall. He landed right on top.

From their positions down below, the mercenaries blitzed the rusted tank in hopes of killing their enemy, while Professor Hojo fumed inside his lair. Yet Davoren still clung to his suspicion. On noticing which  
tank Vincent had chosen, he immediately foresaw the fatal danger.

"STOP SHOOTING, YOU IDIOTS!" he bellowed in alarm, "YOU'LL HIT THE GAS TANK!"

Too late.

Vincent exerted full strength to spring high up out of harm's way.  
Another moment, then one ear-splitting explosion rocked the whole Reactor by the very foundations. The tank, now a roaring meteor of fire, plunged downwards, destroying many pipes and two monstrous girders in its path.

It all crashed like Heaven's rage down upon the balcony, which sparked a second explosion more thunderous than the first. Soon, everyone found themselves under the shadow of a collapsing platform.

Aeris' entire body froze solid; her mind went numb.

However, Davoren reacted at once. Before poor Aeris realized anything,  
she felt him shove her as far away as his might allowed. Through wild debris and raucous clamor she tumbled until one deafening crash ended the chaos.

Heavy swirls of dust choked the air amidst the crackling fires. Aeris sat sprawled back upon the ground, trembling wildly as she beheld such total destruction. She had been pushed away from danger. There was no sign of Davoren. Most probably, he had fallen beneath the rubble.

"AERIS!" she heard someone cry her name aloud.

The frightened girl shot her eyes far up towards the ceiling. There,  
she spotted Vincent dangling from a stiff crossbar, with an unconscious Rufus held under his armpit.

"RUN AWAY!NOW!" Vincent shouted at the top of his lungs.

Rattled by frantic terror, Aeris' mind fixated upon the command. She didn't spare another thought, but seized upon that desperate urge:  
escape!

Therefore, she scrambled back to her feet, and turned upon her heels.  
She never looked back.

In one clever sweep, Vincent had escaped that execution and broken Aeris' captivity. He had taken the chance Davoren would protect "Hojo's specimen"  
as duty dictated. Now both captors lay below mountainous rubble, and the girl free again.

Only two mercenaries had survived the explosion. Though chaotic, they both persisted hard: one man shot at Vincent. The other, on noticing the girl, tried to capture her.

However, Vincent had already swung off the crossbar onto a higher delivery pipe, where he unholstered his gun at once. His ruthless rebuttal came too swift: he first shot the guard chasing Aeris. Next, he turned his deadly aim towards the last guard: one bullet clean through the skull, and the mercenary crashed to his death.

Vincent did not wait to count the spoils of this victory. What mattered was reaching Aeris now that she has fled the scene, and getting her out of here. He found neither Reno nor Rude anywhere below. With luck, they too should have escaped.

In the meantime, he had this boy. Vincent dragged the lifeless boy down the pipe, where the journey ended at some ventilation grate. He tore off the grate, stuffed Rufus inside, then slipped in after him. Grabbing the unconscious boy just above the waist, Vincent began a noiseless crawl through the air-duct. Soon, darkness engulfed both figures.

Though Death lingered master above this devastated site, Life miraculously still throbbed below. By shoving a giant girder away, Davoren at last crawled out of the rubble. He staggered up to both feet.

"Ah wonderful," he grumbled as he beheld his now tattered trenchcoat,  
"That's another one ruined."

Davoren appeared dirtier, with his face smudged by dirt, but otherwise, he had emerged unscathed. He reluctantly slipped off the ragged garment,  
and dumped it aside. He straightened his fine suit, then cast a long look in search for someone.

Those two explosions had destroyed the place. At least three bridges and an entire platform had collapsed here, besides the beam-joists which had supported those structures: twisted pipes, metal and stone; so much burnt garbage. Silence haunted these ruinous hills.

A stiff rattle not too far away attracted Davoren's immediate attention.  
He scurried up the mountainous debris towards the source, where the balcony lay demolished. He arrived just as Professor Hojo stood up from under some stone slab.

No beggar could match Hojo's rags. His green skin twitched from stern rage. The hideous monster scanned the dismal surroundings. When he found nothing, his glare shot straight to Davoren.

"Where is the girl?" he barked at once.

"I pushed her away before the platform collapsed. She must've run off," came the calm reply.

The Professor scoffed out his irritation, then checked his glasses;  
one lens was cracked beyond recognition.

"Don't worry. She can't get too far," assured Davoren knowingly, "Well Sir, I'd better go catch her again. You can have your fun mutilating Vincent."

"No."

Davoren watched the monstrous creature prop his specs back on in haughty composure. His distemper seemed to have subdued.

"I have her location. I can track her down faster," Hojo hissed. His vicious eyes flared yellow towards the gunman, "You kill Valentine, and bring me his bloody corpse."

Fair enough, as far as Davoren saw, "Okay. Suit yourself."

"...those two other men..kill them too before they become a nuisance."

"Yes, Professor."

Everything thus settled, Davoren marched away to fulfill the command.

"...and Davoren?" called Hojo suddenly.

He stopped to peer over his shoulder at the scientist.

"When you find Rufus, kill him too."

No answer. Instead, that last order struck Davoren into what appeared as blank shock: his pink eyes had tensed to a bright gleam, his body so rigid.

"...but...why, Professor?" he asked. His voice sounded dry.

"I've already taken what I need from the boy. He's useless now. Kill him."

For a moment, Davoren plunged into deep thought. Something flashed across his face; an intense emotion which dispersed too fast to be identified.

"...yes, Professor," he muttered.

However, Hojo had not liked that look, much less that awkward pause. It struck Davoren dead on: he suddenly reeled over against a murderous pain in his lungs, so violent he crashed down with a stifled grunt. There he lay convulsing on the debris. His eyes squeezed tight. Both hands clutched his heaving chest.

"What was that?" inquired Hojo in a tone cold enough to shatter ice.

Davoren could barely open one eye. He lay at the scientist's feet, struggling to hold that stern glare while suppressing a fierce coughing fit. Indeed, Hojo's glare alone seemed to pin him under an invisible, brutal force.

"There was resentment," Hojo hissed, "I saw resentment in your eyes, Mr. Davoren...possibly betrayal?"

He emphasized the ominous word by pressing fresh pain upon Davoren's ravaged lungs. The man writhed violently.

"..ugh!..y-you know I would..n-never betray you, Sir..," Davoren hacked on his own blood. It hurt him to even speak.

His assurance passed by unanswered.

"It's just...ah!..it's just..I've always b-been ordered to keep the boy alive...for you to suddenly order me to kill him..it..."

Professor Hojo had heard enough. He released Davoren from pain with one scornful kick against the head, which rolled the gunman onto his other side. Davoren's hoarse gasps wheezed through his chest. It took another moment of struggle before the ordeal eased.

"You have your orders. Go," dismissed the scientist.

"..of cousre..Professor..," gasped Davoren respectfully. He climbed back to his feet. He steadied himself with a good shake of the head, then made his way downhill. Soon, Davoren left.

Hojo found this second reply more to his liking: nothing pleases tyrants more than the full submission of people once themselves in command.

-End of Chp.58

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	56. Chapter 59

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.59 

One word described this situation: ironic. Thirty-one years ago, Vincent's job had been to protect President ShinRa against attackers. Today, just moments ago, he had kidnapped that same President's son.

Vincent never stopped for a breath, not even after that acrobatic escape from the execution. Nor would he stop to hear the dozen of thoughts buzz about his head. For now, he must reach safety.

He had long lost his way inside this desolate labyrinth of ducts and shafts. Nor did he care; Vincent followed whichever path led farther away from the explosion site. He refused to notice his gentle gasps, let alone the fever. Neither were good signs.

Vincent dragged the unconscious boy along as if a potato sack. His hard metallic claw was wrapped around Rufus just above the waist, so that his head hung low, and his dead feet trailed behind. He never stirred.

There seemed no end to this black maze. One path led upon a darker one,  
with too many side-vents to choose. Indeed, Vincent had his sharp eye-sight to thank. At least he could see some path ahead.

He heard frightened rats skitter away to hide. Ghostly creeks and other mysterious sounds echoed like a sigh throughout these filthy, hollow ducts.  
By pure luck, Vincent at last discovered a small grate. Strained to exhaustion, he dumped the unconscious boy nearby, then slumped himself against the wall opposite the grate. Ribbons of faint light streaked across his face. Soon, his pensive eyes strayed far into deep contemplation.

The last few events had been enlightening, but more frightening than any nightmare. For years until this day, Professor Hojo had slaved for a twisted "experiment": to elevate man to God. Every person here connected in some way to create one ultimate entity, with powers well beyond Sephiroth's.

His next thoughts turned to Rufus. the Professor had pulled this boy half-dead from the wreckage of an explosion, then saved his life. Why? What "key"? How could this young lunatic link everything together?

Then was Rufus really the "guinea pig"? Would Professor Hojo infuse all the different components into this boy's body to prove this insane theory?

Too many questions, not one answer. From Hojo's wily smile, Vincent strongly suspected more to this "Genesis Retrial" madness...but what?

At a loss, he turned his meditative gaze down to Rufus.

The unconscious boy lay heaped upon his side, both lifeless hands loosely cast out. His disheveled hair hung across his wan face. He looked dead.

So THIS is President ShinRa's notorious son, mused Vincent to himself: he had heard a lot about him (nothing good), but had never seen him until now.

He took a moment to indulge his curiosity: Vincent was instantly struck by how little son resembled father. In fact, he could not find one similar trait between them. The boy looked quite young, at most twenty-three. He certainly had a handsome face; a dignified touch of aristocracy, the opposite of a father with vulgar features and uncouth manners.

Yet Vincent cautioned himself not to forget: this young man was still Rufus ShinRa. The same who, in a bid to restore public confidence, has ruthlessly sentenced both Tifa and Barret to death. The same spoilt brat who would not be satisfied unless he had dominated everything and everyone.

President ShinRa's son, once the sole heir to a vast empire, now an insane, degraded prisoner for some experiment, without a shred of memory.  
What possible significance could this young man bear?

As if answering, Rufus suddenly stirred to consciousness. He winced an eyebrow, then forced one blurry eye half-open. At once, the dull headache pounded his senses. The boy gruntled a soft "ugh!" before even attempting to move.

Confusion and fatigue marred his haggard face. Rufus' dizzy sight just happened to stray up, where they immediately froze upon a cool pair of bright red eyes.

It only took Rufus a moment to realize what had just happened; another to spring up at peak alarm. But Vincent was by far the faster: before Rufus could even speak, Vincent pointed his deadly gun straight in the boy's shocked face.

A rigid silence followed. Both gazes fastened on each other, one a crimson glow of stoicism, the latter intense ocean-blue strained by anxiety.  
Between them, the muzzle gaped only three inches from its mark.

"Don't speak above a whisper," commanded Vincent under his breath.

The boy blinked. He had expected one loud bullet, not this hushed warning.  
In truth, Vincent had feared the boy might betray this hideout by raising some alarm. But when sure Rufus would "behave", he holstered his gun again with cool composure.

He slumped back against the metallic wall. His pensive eyes withheld the feeble light, already lost amidst fresh thoughts. Vincent's sharp claw lay heaped across one bent knee. His whole demeanor fitted the dismal surroundings perfectly: dark and absorbed within the many shadows.

The mute prisoner beheld his aloof captor from the side in a mixture of dread and anticipation. If possible, he would have probably attempted some escape. Yet something in Vincent's countenance discouraged him. Therefore,  
Rufus sat slouched on both knees, still rubbing his sore neck.

They seemed to await some event.Their silence was unnatural.

"...so...when are you going to shoot me?" confronted Rufus very, very softly.

Vincent flicked his dispassionate sight to the young prisoner: Rufus awaited his death, with dignified eyes cast far down to his empty lap.

Vincent, however, turned his gaze away again, "I'm not going to shoot you."

Rufus was amazed, "You're not?"

"Not unless you want me to," he couldn't help but reply. The joke,  
however, lacked any humor.

Another awkward pause followed, during which the boy fidgeted in evident confusion. This abduction made no sense, if his kidnapper would not kill him or at least harm him.

"..then...why did you bring me here?" ventured Rufus, himself edging an inch back. He mistrusted these bleak surroundings, more this dark stranger.

"I apologize for kidnapping you. It was the only way I could think of to escape."

Though silent, Rufus still remained visibly tense, as if doubting that assurance. Nor could Vincent blame him. After all, he had kidnapped him for his own purposes.

Vincent would have added another apology, if only to ease this suspicion,  
when a vicious pain from his chest suddenly strangled his voice. All at once, poor Vincent recoiled back against such tension, even Rufus was alarmed. But the man stifled every bitter cough by pressing his hand hard over his mouth. His eyes squeezed tight.

"Are you..alright?" asked Rufus confusedly.

"I'm fine," Vincent snapped out the gruff lie.

Hot pain burbled inside his torn lungs. Already, the sour taste of blood clogged his throat. He felt himself suppressing a rageous fever, one that would not remain subdued forever. Luckily however, the attack soon retreated, and Vincent breathed easy again.

Definitely not a good sign, he mused, the fits have started already...that bastard Hojo doesn't waste a minute.

Indeed, Vincent had ventured straight into a lair where his health,  
perhaps his very sanity, rested in Professor Hojo's claws. He was in that monster's den now. Undoubtedly, the fits and fever would get worse. But still, he would not be thwarted. Come what may, he will not leave here without Aeris.

The mention of her name set his mind adrift for moment: the discovery of her past had just shattered her, nor had Professor Hojo taken pity on that fragile soul. He could still see her sprawled under Hojo's dirty foot, so frightened and helpless. He still heard her pitiful sobs of defeat. The more he dwelt upon her misery, the hotter his fury grew.

Vincent's thoughts broke off when he discerned two eyes scrutinizing him from the side. On glancing askance, he caught Rufus' gaze. The alarmed boy,  
of course, gave a violent start, thinking he might have somehow angered his captor.

"Ah! S-sorry!" he faltered at once, "..it..it's just..I feel I've seen your face before."

Vincent had to discredit the awkward claim; he had never seen this boy until today.  
"..just like Davoren..," Rufus mumbled, "When he first came, I thought I had seen his face before..."

Vincent said nothing, though all his attention remained riveted on this young man alone. In the weak light, he appeared more like a ruby-eyed demon of darkness than a human. Small wonder why Rufus dared not move out of his kidnapper's range. Instead, he waited.

The two men had achieved some form of basic trust, enough for Vincent to start an interrogation. Not a cross-examination per say; then again, Rufus was a source of great mystery.

"You seem to know Davoren quite well," began Vincent, "Back there, you appeared very anxious about him. You kept on looking at him."

The boy, at first confused, reflected upon himself until a troubled look clouded his face, "...I don't know that much about him. Davoren's a very strange man...sometimes, he visits me everyday. Other times, he disappears for a long time."

"Has he ever mentioned this 'experiment' to you?"

"No...he's never mentioned it before."

Vincent's keen eyes dug deeper into this timid boy, "Then how did you know the experiment's name? You said it before the Professor did."

"I don't know...it just popped out...I don't know anything about the Professor's work or why he wants me."

Rufus had been quick to guess what this man wanted, and equally plain-spoken to prove he really knew nothing of Hojo's intentions. If anything, he probably knew the least. Yet despite this disappointment,  
Vincent regarded this young prisoner in much interest.

In return, Rufus fidgeted uncomfortably, too conscious of his own position and that ever watchful scrutiny. Perhaps in his awkwardness, he felt obliged to provide any information to this man.

"The Professor has kept me for a long time. He usually locks me up in my room. But sometimes, he straps me to a machine, and hooks these cold electrodes to my head...right here and here," Rufus indicated opposite ends of his temples, "..it hurts so much. So many things I can't understand whiz around, I think my head will explode."

Rufus struggled amongst a whirlpool of muddled memories, "I stand in a fire..I hear it roaring in my ears, but it's still cold inside. I find myself with strangers...they babble non-stop...and this man follows me. I can never escape him. Davoren says it's just a nightmare, and I shouldn't think about it."

Rufus trailed into a long, sad silence, fraught inside by troublesome thoughts. Vincent beheld this prisoner: how tragically wasted his young face appeared, and such gloom in those blue eyes. He found the boy pleasant enough; not "stone-crazy", maybe "not-all-there".

The mention of the gunman, however, had sparked another interest in Vincent.

"Davoren..he takes care of you then?" he inquired.

The question hid a peculiar meaning, but Rufus failed to understand it. He struggled to organize his many emotions and thoughts together, then cast his melancholy gaze aside.

"...long time ago, I was very sick. I guess it was after that 'explosion'...my skin and eyes felt like they were burning...and I could never move, not even one finger. My whole body was wrapped in bandages.  
When I got better, they dumped me in a room. I didn't know where I was. In fact, I couldn't remember anything except my first name."

Anxiety strained his weary eyes. His gentle tone dropped to a fearful whisper of madness, "The fire always burned me, but inside, the cold made me stone-numb. That man sat there looking at me...he'd laugh, walk towards me, or just stare forever..."

Vincent could make nothing of such nonsense, except that perhaps Rufus hallucinated during these "spasm attacks". He recalled one mercenary mention how unruly this lunatic could become, also how Davoren alone could stabilize him again.

No doubt these recollections pained Rufus; his hands trembled with each word, "I couldn't control myself. The guards would give me medicine, but I hated it. So then, they would force it down my throat, beat me senseless,  
and leave me on the floor. It's okay. I know I deserve it. I'm always causing trouble."

"One night, the fire was burning the whole room, and that man was there too...his ugly voice wouldn't stop screaming through my ears. I thought the guards would come. But that night, Davoren came instead."

His eyes pulled to an intense gleam just at the gunman's name, "He began walking slowly towards me...he was saying something I couldn't understand.  
I..I didn't know him...and the fire was burning so hot...I got angry. So, I flung my food dish at him to make him leave."

Rufus hesitated. He shuffled against noticeable tension, trying to separate his confused emotions from the vivid memory. He sat huddled up against the wall, legs hugged loosely against his chest. His sad eyes peered into grim nothingness.

"Go on," encouraged Vincent patiently. In truth, this little anecdote had gripped his curiosity by the roots.

"I..I didn't mean to throw it...I just lost control again," Rufus apologized so pitifully to an invisible audience, "The dish struck his head hard, and some food splashed on his face. I thought...he'd hit me like the guards did."

When the pause stretched too long, Vincent asked, "...was he angry?

"No. Davoren wasn't angry at all. He...smiled at me."

In a life where abuse seemed the norm, no wonder why such a reaction struck the boy's awe. His gaze, though downcast, brimmed with bright wonderment. Vincent, on the other hand, absorbed each word. His scrutiny remained hard-set on Rufus.

The story continued, "I remember he wrapped me up in his trenchcoat...I didn't have any clothes back then. Davoren sat me down against the dirty wall, and sat next to me. He took off his jacket, then rolled it into a..a..."

"...pillow?" Vincent sought the right word.

Rufus nodded, "He put the pillow on the ground, then made me rest my head there. I lay down, while he sat next to me. He began talking again..no, he was whispering something to me..."

A new hope glimmered: perhaps the gunman had mentioned the experiment after all!

"What did he say?" Vincent demanded at once.

Rufus searched his dim memory by running his fingers back through his disheveled hair. That same confused look returned, "...I can't remember exactly. I fell asleep while he was talking. I think...it was story...about some dragon and a princess..."

This time, Vincent blinked, struck blank by the most unexpected answer:  
a...fairy tale? The gunman had told Rufus a fairy tale?

"When I woke up later, Davoren was still there," Rufus' soft voice harbored true fascination, "He had watched over me all night while I slept. He kept the fire and that man away."

"The next day, he got me these clothes. Sometimes, he even brings me good food. He never gives it to the guards, only me. And Davoren...he always makes the pain in my head stop."

"I felt I had seen him before...I asked him who he was...he told me his name was just 'Davoren'. He said he had to take care of me, because I was still sick, and the Professor needed me."

A heavy silence befell the conclusion. Rufus sank into his same gloomy dejection. Vincent was left alone to ponder the anecdote. At first, random thoughts collided against each other. But the longer he churned them about,  
the deeper he plunged into meditation.

Something sounded wrong here: this was Davoren, the heartless monster who spared nothing or no one to please his master. How could he exist as this paradox? Two extremes of a personality, one side brutal, cunning,  
sadistically insane, and the other side...

But the innocent simplicity of the story struck Vincent the hardest: it sounded like a little child had had some frightening nightmare. The parent would then appear to sooth the distraught child, and lull him back to sleep (with a fairy tale no less!). Just the comfort of having someone nearby,  
just the sound of a gentle voice instead of brash insults dispersed all fear.

Impossible! Davoren could never behave thus! Not that demon who had dogged poor Aeris non-stop, or schemed every artful trick to kill Vincent. It just wasn't possible.

"Then Davoren is very...kind to you," Vincent observed with such significance. His crimson eyes narrowed down on the confused boy.

"..I...I don't know..," faltered Rufus, unsure how to answer that tone,  
"..he's not like the guards. He never hits me, or gets angry at me, even when he should. He's just...strange."

Rather than accept that vague explanation, Vincent searched for another in the boy's befuddled expression. He found nothing. It seemed even Rufus himself knew not what to make of Davoren.

"But just now...Davoren was so different. I've never seen him like that before," muttered Rufus as a deeply perturbed look overcast his face, "His eyes...they weren't the same. They were...empty."

Another perplexing enigma to ponder: the gunman wore two masks. One evil for the entire world to fear; the other.."kind" for this boy alone to see.  
But underneath it all, which was the real gunman?

The image of Davoren conjured up in Vincent's mind. Those graceful,  
pure-white hair strands dangling before a stoic visage. Cold pink eyes gazing back, those of a ruthless killer, reveling the sight of blood above all else.

The stark contrast would boggle any mind when compared against the old Davoren, with dark chestnut hair. Such warmth in that smile. So much kindness radiated through his gentle honey-colored eyes, enough to disarm any mistrust or suspicion.

Yes. Rufus had pin-pointed the true difference between these two versions of Davoren: the eyes. One pair lacked emotion. No anger, no pain, no regret, no compassion... "empty".

At a loss, Vincent returned to Rufus. Instead of finding answers, the boy had left him with more questions.

"Come on," commanded Vincent at last.

"Eh?" blinked Rufus confoundedly, "W-where are we...?"

Vincent shifted to move away, "Your two friends are very worried about you. I have to return you to them."

Rufus fidgeted in evident discomfort. Obviously, he hadn't liked that idea.

"You can trust them," assured Vincent, "They'd never harm you. They only came here to help you, Rufus."

He thought it strange he would address the boy by his first name instead of his formal title. In any case, Vincent patiently waited for him to follow.

"...Mr. Vincent?" muttered Rufus after some hesitation, "..do you know Davoren?"

Vincent paused before admitting, "Yes, I do."

"..you...you're going to kill him, aren't you?"

A dead silence filled the air. In truth, Vincent found himself unable to answer, which aroused his discomfort.

Each man beheld the other, that question hanging bare in between them. The boy gazed at Vincent unafraid, but tense under anticipation.

Their mutual hostility was known to all, yet Vincent had to admire the boy for sensing it to its barest core. Rufus truly knew how deep this enmity went: down to the simple, beast-like instinct to kill the other.

"Kill the other"...it seemed the only solution now. Davoren had taken too much, Vincent had resisted too long. If they met tonight, both men would plunge into a bloodbath. One would die, the other triumph. Simple.

But why, as he beheld those ocean-blue eyes, so intently set on him, Vincent felt an ominous feeling creep up?

He turned away from both his contemplation and the boy. Without a word, Vincent crawled down the stuffy air duct. The mute Rufus never pursued an answer, but obediently followed close behind. Soon, darkness engulfed their path again.

-End of Chp.59

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	57. Chapter 60

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.60

It took a long time before they found an exit out of this labyrinth. The grim path had led them up further, growing more narrow until they had to crawl on their stomachs. At last, Vincent discovered a tiny side-vent,  
which ultimately ended at some overhead grate. He easily lifted it.

Vincent first climbed out, then helped Rufus, who eyed the dismal surroundings in great uneasiness. They found themselves over some wide bridge. It overlooked a complex network of platforms and pipes down below.  
In the far distance, the faint rumble of machines hummed through the bitter cold air.

After some deliberation, Vincent signaled for Rufus to follow. They pursued the path down the empty bridge, through a bleak entrance up a flight of steps. Vincent marched heedless to their own loud footsteps.  
However, his senses were heightened to full attentiveness. In truth, he mistrusted this silence.

The entrance opened upon a wrecked storage hall, so large the brick walls reached far into obscurity high, high above. Black shadows hung everywhere.  
All around, wretched cargo boxes and rusted shipping containers littered the hall. Where once rich materia had filled their bellies, now they lay empty, carelessly heaped up in sad neglect.

Vincent checked on Rufus before venturing forward into the ghostly hall.  
The dreaded silence seemed to grow heavier the further they walked, the darkness more insidious. Nevertheless, the two men wandered down the complex path. Many times, Vincent would choose between forking ways, or gracefully hop over crates, followed behind by Rufus.

Neither man had spoken since that rather unfruitful interrogation. Rufus never protested whichever path his kidnapper pursued, but just made sure he didn't lag too far behind. Nor cared Vincent to revive any conversation. He had plunged into morose meditation.

However, his attention suddenly sharpened on discerning some unnatural movement nearby. He suspected the worse: Davoren.

With uncanny swiftness, he shoved both himself and the boy against one huge cargo crate, pressing his claw against Rufus' chest to keep him in place. Rufus was certainly perplexed; he hadn't heard anything.

He observed Vincent unholster his gun, then draw it close, prepping it for any action. His face from the side expressed such sternness, all his keen hearing focused on the still air.

They seemed to linger an eternity.

Vincent sensed an unknown presence creep alarmingly close; so close he held his breath under tense anticipation. He left Rufus safe behind to edge nearer, black gun ever rigid within his grip. Whoever it was, he would confront him.

Vincent only waited another second before suddenly leaping around the corner to fire. But he stopped short at once. Much to his great surprise,  
he found himself pointing his deadly weapon straight at a very astonished Reno, who similarly, had drawn out his nightstaff.

"Ah! Vincent!" cried Reno in shock.

Rufus trotted up from behind the crate onto the scene. Rude also soon made his appearance. Rather than answer, Vincent holstered his gun with mild exasperation. It had been a false alarm, but at least they had found each other quickly.

The reunion would have sailed far more smoothly had Reno suppressed his sudden rage. It flared up the instant Vincent withdrew his gun, whereby he struck the nightstaff smack upon the man's head, if only to release his fury. It hit him so hard, poor stunned Vincent staggered one step back.  
Needless to say, both Rufus and Rude were shocked.

"You pasty-faced, freak-assed bastard!" snarled Reno under seething anger, "What the hell were you THINKING back there!"

Obviously, he meant Vincent's last adventure. Vincent wasn't hurt by the dull blow as much as irritated by this man, "I understand your anger, but please realize I had no other choice of escape."

"Like shit! You nearly killed us with that crazy stunt of yours! And you kidnapped Rufus! Damn you! I thought you were gonna suck his blood or something!"

Vincent frowned, but since he saw it useless to argue, remained resentfully silent.

"C'mere!" Reno roughly yanked Rufus away. He asked the boy concerning his kidnapper, "He didn't try something weird, like make ya show him your neck,  
did he?"

The confounded boy only blinked back in confusion. Vincent's frown darkened further: he didn't enjoy these crude vampire jokes one bit.

"Hey, Reno. Just relax," pleaded Rude, most anxious to diffuse the tension,  
"He saved our lives, remember? At least we're all okay and the President's safe."

The man reflected a moment: True. Vincent has rescued them from two  
executions, and returned the boy unharmed. Perhaps hitting him hadn't been the best way to show gratitude.

"Yeah, whatever!" Reno dismissed as his way of thanks and apology (he hated guilt-trips). He then tossed his head aside.

While Vincent had effectively occupied those guards, these two ex-Turks had had enough opportunity to flee the scene, at least before the explosion. Afterwards, both men had snuck around like two cautious thieves,  
hoping to find their young President before another enemy found them. Luck had brought them to this storage hall, where the not so joyous reunion had taken place.

"Tsh! But this is as far as I go! I've had enough loony-business," Reno motioned towards his friend, "C'mon! We're outta this madhouse."

Their objective had been to investigate this secret laboratory, more specifically, Rufus ShinRa. Though events had taken them by storm, Reno saw no purpose in getting involved any further. Therefore, he turned away to leave.

"Wait," called Vincent's cool voice after him.

Reno halted. He threw a contemptuous look behind, "What now?"

"I still need to ask this boy something. It concerns the experiment."

Reno faced Vincent again, this time suspicion too evident on his lean expression. In return, Vincent maintained a cool, business-like visage.  
Behind, Rude lingered in uneasiness, with Rufus safe close by. The boy said nothing, although his tense demeanor showed clearly how he hated to be questioned again.

Reno glanced aside at the mute boy, then back to Vincent, "He's the guinea pig for that screwball Hojo. What more do ya need to know?"

Vincent's calm voice dropped to an ominous mutter, "That is only one possibility. There could be others."

Indeed, while Professor Hojo had not denied he would use Rufus as the test subject, he had not confirmed it either. Reno thought a moment, seeking silent help from his friend behind. Yet Rude himself could make nothing of this complicated matter.

"You think Rufus is connected to this experiment in another way?" Rude asked Vincent at last.

"I don't know. He told me Professor Hojo often strapped him to some machine, and hooked electrodes to his head."

Both ex-Turks were solemnly silent.

"Rufus, are you certain you know nothing of 'Genesis Retrial"  
confronted Vincent squarely. Inside, he still hoped for some answer.

The anxious boy faltered, "..I don't know anything.."

"And no one has ever mentioned it to you? The guards, or perhaps Davoren"  
interjected Rude quite earnestly.

"..n-no..I.."

"Then why would Professor Hojo need you so badly?" Vincent mumbled the tiresome question more to himself than anyone.

Rufus felt uncomfortable under everyone's gaze, especially this tall, dark man. His bitter blue eyes remained downcast, strained under very intense emotions.

"And how could the experiment's name simply 'pop out'?" Vincent hammered regardless, "You must have somehow known it before, at least heard of it."

Rufus' expression began to crumble. A painful gleam tensed his sad eyes.

"...maybe professor Hojo once spoke of it while you were.."

"...materia..."

"What?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything!" Rufus exploded in a rageous passion, so sudden it caught everyone off guard. Immediately, Rufus clutched his head against a surge of violent headaches. He lost balance with a stifled grunt.

The spasm attack aroused everyone's alarm, yet Rude reacted first. He caught the lunatic just as he collapsed to his knees. The tempest inside flustered poor Rufus to painful madness. Both ex-Turks had crouched down by him, Rude for support, Reno to calm him.

"W-when the fire burns me, so may things flash by," Rufus squeezed out through wretched agony, "Faces...voices...but I can't understand anything!  
It's like...I'm living another life, and watching myself at the same time!  
Aah!"

The young madman writhed aside, "I tell m-myself 'That's not me!', but inside, I know it is! That name 'Genesis Retrial'  
...it just drills into my head!..written jargon...words...pictures! But I can't understand that! I don't know what t-the Professor.."

"Whoa! Easy now!" cried Reno above this insane rave, supporting the boy's head in his own hands for comfort, "No one's blaming you here. If ya don't know, that's okay! That's okay!"

"Please Sir, just calm down," begged the much anxious Rude.

Vincent had made little sense of that outburst. Internally, he berated himself for pressing Rufus too hard for answers. Therefore, he had backed off. All this time, he had beheld the pitiful sight: for one so young and ruined to suffer further against such raw pain.

Luckily, the spasm fit diffused soon enough. Rude remained crouched down by the boy, trying his utmost to sooth his distress. He himself was awkward, but effective enough to calm Rufus to a reasonable level again.

When the storm had abated, Vincent called, "...Mr. Reno?"

Reno looked towards him, then stood up.

"The boy is on a machine named a 'brain scanner'. What is that?"

He guessed this mysterious machine bore no good; Reno's quizzical face darkened to a pensive frown. His whole demeanor turned quite serious as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Alright," he sighed, "Y'know, being a Turk means you gotta interrogate people sometimes. Once in a while, you get this really resistant bastard who won't talk, no matter what."

Though silent, Vincent nodded his head in perfect understanding.

"This 'brain scanner' is super-new technology invented by the Science Department back in ShinRa Inc.. It's this special machine that scans through a person's mind for information."

"It sends powerful neuro-electrical impulses...programmed to locate any specific information. They implant a tiny device in the person's brain.  
This acts as the impulse-centre."

"And then you hook up the electrodes?" Vincent asked, his eyes alit by keen interest.

"Yup. Basically, it digs into the brain. The info gets sent through the electrodes to be displayed on the machine's screen."

Reno's expression turned sour as he muttered aside, "...kinda scary, if ya ask me. The company controlled everything. They could even scour your own brain if they wanted."

Vincent had to marvel at such "scary" advancements. Technology had certainly gone a long way since he last worked for ShinRa Inc..

"But the impulse-centre itself causes a problem," added Reno, "The victim gets killer headaches and radical mood swings. Some can get pretty violent.  
The higher the scan level, the more intense and frequent the attacks."

Vincent made the grim connection, "Then that would explain his spasm fits.  
It's the result of the scanner."

"...yeah..."

For one silent moment, each man was left to ponder this discovery. Vincent studied the boy, who still sat miserably slouched on the floor. He struck such a sad appearance.

"But why would Professor Hojo do that?" wondered Rude outloud, "...for 'information'?"

A very good question.

"Perhaps...the boy knows something Professor Hojo needs," Vincent hypothesized after some deep deliberation.

"Like what? Rufus isn't a scientist!" snapped Reno, not at Vincent, but at this frustration, "Oh sure, he's got more smarts than his old man. And y'know, he did understand a lot about Mako Engineering and Reactor technology, but not heavy science stuff."

It sounded reasonable. As an important ShinRa executive and future president, Rufus would understand such relevant subjects. But that did not answer the question: what possible significance bore this boy to "Genesis Retrial"?

And why had he mentioned the word "materia"?

Their baffled scrutiny fell back to this riddle. In return, Rufus sat silently on the ground, tired and twice as wretched. He had heard their discussion until his eyes sunk in bitter shame; even he himself knew no explanation.

"This is waaay over my head," Reno vexedly scoffed the tension aside, "Get up, Rude. let's leave before things get any crazier."

However, Rude hesitated to rise, "What about...Rufus?"

Reno paused. His thoughtful eyes, of a keen sea-green color, lingered over the boy for a rather tense moment. Rufus stared back at a loss.

"Aw, heck with it! The kid comes with us," came the decision loud and clear, "We'll figure out what to do later."

"Ah?" started Rufus confusedly, "B-but..I..I don't.."

"What, you rather stay here and get screwed up in some experiment?"

"No...it's just..."

"Listen," Reno cut short any further protests. His tone, however,  
contained a strange apologetic gentleness, "I know you don't remember us.  
It's been one shock after another for you. I know I've been a...jerk," he had trouble forcing the word out, "..dragging you around then slapping you.  
But you gotta trust us on this one, kid. We did not come here to hurt you.  
We just wanna get you outta here. Alright?"

The language had been plain, but the sentiments quite sincere. Rufus reflected upon his own thoughts: Vincent had assured him the same thing about these two men; Reno had been clearly worried when he was kidnapped;  
and Rude still sat crouched by his side in concern.

Finally, Rufus gathered himself back to his own feet again (with Rude's help, of course), then nodded his head in consent. He'd grant these two men some trust.

"okay," smiled Reno at this success, "Now that we're all cool on that,  
let's see how- HEY! Vinnie!"

The alarmed cry came just as Reno suddenly noticed the man march away from the scene, morose as ever aloof.

"Take the boy and leave quickly," Vincent warned tonelessly, "I suspect Davoren is on the hunt for us."

"But...where the hell are YOU going!" That ain't the.."

"I am not leaving yet."

The stern curtness of his answer took both ex-Turks by surprise. They could not believe their ears.

Rufus had been returned. That task now done, Vincent resumed his main objective: retrieving Aeris. He ventured onwards, undaunted by the darkness of whatever may lurk within its bleak territory.

"Y-you're going back THERE! You're nuts!" cried Reno after him.

Even so, he continued his path.

Reno's anger sparked at such stubbornness, "Man, give it up! Whoever's paying ya to get that girl, it ain't worth it! She's not even real!"

The word "real" struck a violent chord in Vincent's heart. This time, he stopped dead, but did not turn around. His tall figure from behind was rigid in place, cool with deadly poise.

Was that it? Reno thought he had been hired, like some low-life mercenary, to retrieve this girl?

"Look, I understand what you're trying to do here," Reno reasoned out,  
"But you gotta look at reality. That girl ain't real. She's a copy of another person. There is a psycho back there with the words 'mad scientist'  
tattooed on his forehead. If he sees you, he will rip ya to shreds! No money is worth that! Just get out while the getting's good."

"If Rufus ShinRa had been a clone, would you have left him here?" retorted Vincent's dry voice. He flashed a hard glare behind at Reno, the crimson ablaze with scorn. His face was cold.

Reno found himself effectively silenced by the blunt question. He fidgeted, perhaps a bit ashamed of himself. Nevertheless, Vincent saw his answer: Even if this boy had been a clone, Reno would have still taken him in. Only NOW did he truly understand Vincent's point.

Yet the thought lingered around Vincent's mind: there was a cruel truth to Reno's words. This was not "Aeris", but a copy misbegotten from some machine. Why should he risk his life to retrieve her, when it would be easier to just walk away?

A copy...a clone...what a disgusting word, as if all her humanity had been stripped away. She had no name, only some specimen code; no past, only a detailed scientific report of her creation. Why throw away his life for a clone? It wasn't Aeris.

No. It wasn't Aeris. It wasn't Aeris who had tenderly nursed him while he raved between delirium and nightmares. Nor was it Aeris who, simple as she was, strove her best to uplift him whenever dejected.

No. Not the one whose face he had touched in the rain. Not the girl he had embraced in his warm bed that cold, black night; or whose prophetic air still fascinated him as they sat at those snow fields...when she refused to believe he was a monster.

All those vivid memories floated by: Aeris had no part in them. It was her clone.

So what now? Walk away? Shrug it off, discard her tearful face and frightened sobs...just dump it all in the past and abandon her?

Damned if he'd commit the same horrid sin twice! He had sworn he'd never let anyone harm her, not while he still breathed and blood flowed through his veins.

Nor did he care about her past. He'd still risk his life against all odds to get her back.

He had wasted enough precious time already. Between returning the boy and dabbling in discussions, Vincent feared the worst for poor Aeris. She couldn't run forever from Professor Hojo, much less defend herself. In any case, he must hurry. Therefore, without even a farewell, Vincent left the group behind, and resumed his path.

"Tsk! More stubborn than a mule, even in your old age, eh Vincent"  
suddenly mocked a playful voice from no where.

Vincent stopped short, feeling hot hatred stiffen every muscle. All at once, he sensed that familiar aura reek its evil from high above, those eyes so maliciously pink. He swung around, and shot his sight far up to the source.

Both ex-Turks similarly cast their apprehensive eyes high up, dreading what they would find there. Rufus, the most anxious of all, darted his tense eyes far up into the darkness above. His face expressed such perturbation.

"..it's that Davoren guy...," muttered Rude fearfully.

"..crap. He's already found us," cursed Reno beneath his breath.

Events had just taken a most serious turn. Indeed, the ruthless gunman stood tall, poised like a demon above a beam-joist far above against a black background. All his focus rested on Vincent alone, whereby his lips contorted into a vicious smile.

He had found them at last.

-End of Chp.60

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site! http/ Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	58. Chapter 61

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.61

The two enemies stood poised against each other, between them a height of cool defiance and mutual hatred. From his place high above, Davoren remained erect, one hand impertinently propped against his waist. Vincent held his ground down below. His sharp claw hung by his side, clenched into a tight fist.

The gunman sensed the rising hostility his sheer presence provoked. It filled him with cruel pleasure.

"I guess it's time we settled the score, my friend," he sneered outloud,  
"No holding back or sneaky tricks. Just your gun against mine."

Vincent made no response except narrow his eyes until they gleamed harsh crimson beneath knit brows. Deep hatred soared under that cold, marble-hard visage.

Yes. Time to end this madness for good. He had won one round, Davoren another, the third would finish it. And if Vincent wanted Aeris, he'd have to kill his way through Davoren; cast him back to the grim past where he belonged...a corpse in a ravaged apple orchard.

For a brief instant, Vincent recalled the boy's plain question "You're going to kill him, aren't you?"; that and his searching, deep-blue eyes.  
But he shook them both off at once.

If I must kill Davoren again, then so be it! Vincent argued fiercely inside himself, it will never end until one of us kills the other!

If that were so, why feel such discomfort everytime those eyes struck his memory? There had been a strange swirl of emotions in their tense blueness;  
had the boy actually anticipated the outcome of the bloodbath?

Kill Davoren or be killed..."kill"...

Thirty-one years ago, Vincent would have laid down his life for this man.  
He had been his best friend, his leader, and always the better man. And he knew Davoren had never hesitated to give all he could for Vincent, not just warm friendship, but protection and support too.

Now, Mysterious Fate had weaved a complex web of events, where each man pointed his gun at the other, hatred their sole fuel. Only blood would end the war.

Is that how Vincent wanted it?

Again, he dispelled these troublesome thoughts away. He couldn't afford to doubt himself now, not with poor Aeris at stake. It was too late for regrets; too late to dwell over things past and long dead. The present pressed itself so urgently upon the moment.

Then there was no other way except death. Either he killed Davoren, or died in the process.

His stern attention returned to that devilish figure perched high above.  
He looked those pink eyes straight, which seemed to glow all the more evilly. Davoren too knew it would end tonight.

A stiff silence oppressed the cold air, the two ex-Turks perhaps most aware of it. Indeed, their situation had just turned quite grim. Out of keen mistrust, Reno had gripped his nightstaff into the open. Rude, though apprehensive, nevertheless has assumed a hard front. Neither man lowered his guard for a moment.

It seemed Rufus alone bore no hostility for that man everyone else hated.  
Instead, he stood in plain view, head twisted up to behold Davoren up there. Clear anxiety strained his face, as if searching in vain for some explanation. However, he too dared not speak. His gaze, his whole concern,  
rested on Davoren; something the gunman seemed to purposely shun. He never looked at Rufus.

"You'd be delighted to know, gentlemen, the Professor has kindly granted me permission to kill you all," Davoren drew one hand over his face, so that his eyes peered like pink jewels through the fingers. His grin curled further to reveal a brutal madness, "Hehee...so much blood to spill...all in one night!"

The words belonged to a demon crazed by blood-lust, his gaze unnaturally bright, his aura too malicious to grasp. Vincent only uttered a scoff under his breath. He knew where Davoren's derangement would lead.

However, the tension grew too much for Reno. He would not be intimidated.

"Huh! Dunno what the hell you're yapping about," he rebuffed upwards, "But damned if I get done in by a freak like YOU...y'ol phony-faced albino geezer!"

Not at all ruffled, Davoren squatted down upon the beam.

"And what will you do, pray tell?" he mocked, amused by this man's spunk,  
"Hit me with your magic wand?"

One thing Reno never tolerated was any insult to his prized nightstaff.  
His grip tightened on the weapon, but he suppressed his outrage down to a hateful scowl.

"But honestly!" declared Davoren in feigned indignation, "You youngsters sure lack proper respect for your elders!"

His tone, his whole demeanor, suddenly dropped to cold ruthlessness,  
"Maybe I should kill the boy first just for show. He's the easiest target out of you lot."

Rufus was struck blank by that venomous tone, Davoren's unemotional face,  
and that stark threat. Anxiety and wide disbelief clouded his eyes. But still, the gunman wouldn't even look at him.

The threat had aroused a keen anger in both ex-Turks, which Rude acted upon at once. He effectively yanked Rufus behind, making his own challenge clear for Davoren to hear, "Screw you. The only way you get this kid is through me."

He spoke for himself and his friend. Both men glared at the gunman, who wasn't the least bit impressed by their velour. Rufus stood safe behind,  
lost amidst his entangled thoughts and this disturbing scene. His anxious gaze never wavered off Davoren.

Vincent remained firm as ever in his spot, anticipating whatever may come next. One thing struck his sharp notice: Davoren had threatened to kill the boy, which meant Rufus was no longer needed anymore, at least not alive.  
Wasn't he the guinea pig? If not, then what?

At last, the gunman erected himself up again. He then strolled along the beam-joist, casually sweeping his fingers back through his fine white hair.  
A weak, smug smile crossed his lips.

"Well, not to worry, my good Sir," he remarked knowingly, "All in its own good time."

Vincent started when he suddenly noticed Davoren's other hand slip something out of his side-pocket. He recognized it too well: another time bomb.

He hadn't enough time to even shout a warning. Between the second it took Vincent to understand and act, Davoren hurtled the explosive device straight down upon the alarmed company. They scattered out at once: Vincent and Rude one direction, Reno shoving the astonished boy away into another.

No sooner had the bomb hit the floor than one thunderous explosion rocked the entire hall top to bottom. The sheer force sent all four men tumbling amidst blasted crates and wild shrapnel, their senses lost to the raucous chaos. Vincent felt the ground beneath crack wide open. Soon, he was plunging down...down into a black abyss.

Hazy consciousness stirred again. Slowly, Vincent forced his eyes open,  
gathering his dazed senses before even attempting to move. At first, he could see nothing. But as his keen eyes adjusted, he discovered himself in some bleak cavern of pipes. He lay sprawled back upon a jagged hill of wrecked crates and stone rubble.

It took him a moment to recall what events had dumped him here. He guessed the violent explosion had destroyed the floor, whereby he and this debris had crashed down here to the lower levels. Indeed, on looking up, Vincent spied a hole gape wide through the grey stone ceiling. He had fallen a great height, then lost consciousness, probably just for a few minutes.

He slid off the garbage hill, heedless to the dozen of aches and pains in each limb. Vincent then struggled back onto his feet. As he shook off this dizziness, he discerned stiff movements rattle beneath the rubble. Soon,  
Reno crawled out, choking on dust between stifled grunts. Of course,  
Vincent helped the man stand up.

Rude emerged next, having suffered a terrible gash in one arm, but still stern-faced. He shoved aside one giant cargo box off himself, then climbed to his feet again.

Their eyes searched around for Rufus. On spotting a pitiful hand outstretched through the garbage, all three men dug away until Rude forcefully dragged out a coughing Rufus.

"Y-you alright?" asked Reno, himself still dizzied by the blast.

"..I..think so...," wheezed the boy. He remained hunched over on the ground, encouraged by Rude to steady his breaths.

All in all though, they seemed to have managed well. They were all here and alive. No one had sustained any serious injuries; even Rude bore his own wound without complaint. Once Rufus had calmed again, he was helped to his feet. Though still a bit feeble, he stood unsupported and unharmed.

They beheld the dismal surroundings. The silence stretched into one painfully long minute.

"Where are we?" muttered Rude ominously.

"The main delivery centre," whispered Vincent, "It's directly above the reservoir pools and compressor tanks."

Darkness and cold hung like a disease throughout this dank dump. It extended into an endless labyrinth of pipes, gaskets, and ducts; a huge jungle of metal and wire. Dead cables hung loose. Tiny icicles or green mould festooned the overhead metal-work. There were cracks and dents amidst the network, filth and misery in every quarter.

No doubt this place had once been prosperous. Many tanks had hummed the sweet song of fresh Mako, pumping green life up those metal veins. Now, one could only wonder at such devastation. Time had reduced it to a rusted playground for lost ghosts and rats to wander about.

But there permeated a sinister aura throughout its air. It surrounded them; it grew more odious the longer they waited.

Vincent stood keenly aware of this dreadful presentiment. His suspicious eyes darted side to side; his ears were pricked up to full alertness.  
Similarly, the two men glared around. Rufus fidgeted in this mistrustful atmosphere.

"He's here, right?" Reno breathed aside to Vincent.

"Yes."

"Shit," he cursed more softly. This quiet tension made his blood curdle.

Somewhere within these deep jungles, the hunter lay in patient wait for his prey. Vincent had to praise Davoren's clever tactfulness: he had dropped them into this complex cavern. Chances were, Davoren knew the territory far better than any of them. Plus, here he had plenty of shelter and dark places to hide. The ideal battle ground for any intelligent gunman.

Vincent noticed Reno venture past him towards the ghostly jungle. His nightstaff was gripped tight, ready for any action.

"You won't be able to fight him," stated Vincent, like a sage warning a rash youth.

Reno stopped, then confronted the composed man, "Well, it ain't like I can just ASK him to let us leave!"

"Davoren can raise his resistance to full invincibility. No attack, no matter how powerful, will affect him. He won't even feel it."

For a moment, Reno was dumbstruck by the news, so much he dropped his charged weapon to the side. Rude grew more discomforted by their hopeless situation.

"Does he have a weak spot?" demanded Reno.

"He has none."

"C'mon! He's gotta have SOME weakness!"

For some reason, Vincent glanced at the nervous boy, but quietly repeated,  
"He has none."

"Tsh! You really know how to pick your enemies, don't ya Red-eyes," he scoffed. They were in one tight corner.

Vincent ignored the crude comment. Instead, his mind churned a dozen thoughts to formulate a plan. But how could one defeat such a person, one with such cunning intellect and incredible resistance?

The awkward pause endured an eternity until at last, Vincent said,  
"However, there is one fault in Davoren's abnormality. He can only maintain his invincibility for fifteen minutes."

Both ex-Turks grasped this valuable piece of information with keen interest.

"If we can somehow force him to exceed the time limit, the level will crumble. Only then will we stand a better chance against him."

Reno, on noticing Vincent address him in particular, recoiled a step back,  
"Hey! Whoa there! 'We'? As in you 'n me? You wanna team up!"

"I am open to better suggestions if you have any to offer," challenged Vincent calmly but contemptuously. He didn't like the idea either, but circumstances dictated the terms.

Reno silently consulted his friend with a meaningful glance: not too long ago, Vincent had been considered an enemy; he had already tricked them once and kidnapped the boy, nor did he seem that fond of them (especially Reno.  
However, Rude, who luckily had a cooler head, nodded his head in agreement. An alliance was their best option.

"...so what do we do?" Reno asked his new ally sarcastically, "Ask he please stand still while we bash him for fifteen minutes?"

Vincent paused, if only to organize this final thoughts together. He asked, rather oddly, "Are you fast?"

"Huh? Well...," Reno scratched his head, "Not as quick as you, of course,  
but I'm fast enough. Why?"

The plan was uttered as a hushed, important secret, "We'll alternate our attack modes on Davoren between offense and defense. Each time one attacks,  
the other defends, and then we switch the pattern. It must be quick and smooth, but irregular. Our best hope is to confuse him off his guard."

Reno said nothing, though his bright eyes not only showed he understood the plan, but liked it too.

"You are at a better advantage than I am. Davoren's never seen you before;  
he doesn't know how you fight. So, it'll be harder for him to fight you."

"...yeah. I get'cha," agreed the man.

Indeed, Davoren depended on guns, not close combat, and certainly not electricity attacks. Perhaps hope glimmered after all.

The plan was set, the battle ground ready. All that remained was to act.

"So we gotta keep this up for fifteen minutes, huh?" confirmed Reno, ready to move out.

Vincent nodded, "We'll have to hit hard enough to force him to use his invincibility. If we keep it up without giving him a chance to rebuild, he..."

"NO!" suddenly interrupted a tense voice.

All sight turned to Rufus, who hitherto had listened to their scheme with growing horror. He now stood rigid in his place, a most anxious turmoil upon his pallid face, especially those stormy blue eyes.

"Y-you can't kill Davoren!" he cried outloud in a passion, "Davoren isn't like this! He doesn't know how to fight or use a gun!"

How could one argue against such ignorance? Vincent folded his arms coldly, then stood aloof from this scene, passively watching Reno handle this predicament. He would not enter any argument with this boy.

"If we don't kill this guy, he'll kill us!" Reno rebuffed impatiently,  
"He'll kill YOU!"

"But he's my friend! It's impossible! this can't.."

"Wake up and smell the coffee beans, idiot! Your 'friend' is a trigger-happy homicidal maniac! He may have looked after you for a while,  
but he doesn't care a fig about you! He only cares about serving the Professor!"

"No!" Rufus angrily shook his head to deny every word, "You can't make me believe that! That's not the Davoren I know! He.."

"Oh! So now you're telling me he's got some 'multiple personality' thing too?" snapped Reno at peak sarcasm, so cutting Rude almost interfered,  
"It's in his damn eyes! He's a killer and loving it!"

He turned to his bald friend, "Rude, take care of the kid. Hide somewhere safe," Reno then tapped his nightstaff against Rufus' chest for extra emphasis, "And YOU! Stay clear, understand?"

"But.."

"That's not negotiable!"

They had wasted enough time of this useless argument. Defeated, Rufus dropped his bitter glare to the ground, clenching his bare fists under suppressed silence. He kept all his emotions in check.

Reno broke away in clear annoyance. He had obviously hated to be so harsh,  
especially after he had just earned Rufus' trust. But between that and the boy's safety, he chose the latter.

Vincent had observed the tense scene all throughout. Internally, he agreed with Reno's decision to keep Rufus out of danger. He could trace a profound 'Turk Loyalty' in these two men, even though Rufus no longer held them in command. In fact, the irony was that they commanded the boy now.

The two ex-Turks separated quickly. After final consultation, Rude led Rufus away in quest for a good hiding place. Reno cranked his nightstaff to full charge, then solemnly turned to Vincent: was he ready?

Vincent nodded. He pulled out his loaded black gun, then motioned towards the grim, bleak jungle. It was time.

Soon, the new-founded allies ventured forth, like two cats exploring new terrain.

But inside his own mind, Vincent could still see those tense blue eyes gaze at him, with Rufus's quiet voice ask so simply, "You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

-End of Chp.61

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site! http/ Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	59. Chapter 62

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.62

The labyrinth was far bigger, more eerie than Vincent had expected, so much like a barren graveyard. Paths intertwined into grim darkness. Pipes thronged the hallways; some formed arbors, others snaked along the brick walls. There were rusty gauges and empty gaskets; neglected control panels and molded clamps. Vines of wretched cable lines hung loose. Amidst such desolation, the ghosts of misery haunted their ruined territory. Their melancholy sighs echoed throughout these hollow halls before silence stifled them again. A bitter coldness stung the dank air, the atmosphere too sinister to ignore.

Somewhere within this shadow-infested jungle, the gunman lay in wait.

The two stealthy men crept cautiously alongside opposite walls of the hallway. They never glanced at each other, nor had they uttered a word since venturing inside. The air was too quiet. Even their soft footsteps sounded loud against this stiff background.

Vincent snuck along, slightly stooped over with gun in hand, and senses wary of every movement around. Reno kept up the pace. His nightstaff was gripped tight between steady hands. Like Vincent, he felt too conscious of their situation.

The slow minutes dragged by. Their path led around more black corners,  
through darker territory, but no gunman. At times, it seemed uncertain which side hunted and which was being hunted.

Perhaps in an attempt to disperse his paranoia, Reno muttered aside, "So clue me in here. Your assets are speed and sharp-shooting. What about Davoren?"

Vincent mused the question, then replied, "He is physically stronger than I am, but a bit slower. His main specialties are battle tactics and enemy-analysis."

"THAT old-timer!"

"You'd be very wise not to underestimate Davoren," he warned significantly, glaring askance at Reno, "Regardless of his age, he is quite sharp and dangerous. He was my leader when I had been a Turk."

"Ah! I thought you two had a 'Turk streak' to ya!" exclaimed the man now that his suspicion had been confirmed, "The way you can sneak around undetected...the way he obeys the Professor...it takes a Turk to know a Turk."

They fell silent again. The journey extended further through this dark maze, but still no gunman. Their tension had long turned to dread. Indeed,  
this hunt strained their nerves to near break-down.

"So, you fought this guy before?" resumed Reno.

"Yes. Twice."

"And?"

"Let's just say I consider myself lucky to have survived both encounters."

"...beat the shit outta ya, huh?"

"To put it mildly, yes," Vincent admitted, not at all offended by the crude paraphrase.

Reno scoffed a soft curse, "I still can't believe Rufus was just defending that bastard, even after he threatened him...the kid's a loony alright."

Rather than comment, Vincent strayed a moment into private meditation:  
yes, the boy had fiercely defended the gunman despite that vicious threat.  
From his view, Davoren was the sole source of warmth and protection he possessed in this nightmare. To everyone else, he was Professor Hojo's lowly puppet-slave. Vincent didn't think the boy "loony". Far from it, the longer he dwelt upon Rufus and his anecdotes, the deeper sunk his intrigue with the gunman.

Davoren...you are a mystery. You exist as a paradox, shifting between two extremes. But behind those pink eyes, what do you really hide?

Suddenly, Vincent alarm shot peak high, whereby he halted dead in his tracks: he sensed an odious presence nearby...very nearby.

No mistake. Davoren was close.

The man automatically bared his gun. Reno, who instantly understood Vincent's reaction, stopped short. His grip tightened further around the nightstaff until his knuckles turned white. Neither man dared move or breathe. Instead, they waited.

Nothing stirred. If Davoren lurked close by, then he would not reveal himself...yet.

The silence endured a painful eternity. Vincent's sharp glare darted from corner to corner. Every muscle tensed as he discerned that evil aura draw closer, but from where? All his rigid concentration focused on the stiff air around, searching...searching for the devil...

A quick flicker of a movement caught his instant alarm. On shooting his eyes behind, Vincent spotted a shadow flinch: the gunman had snuck up from behind.

"LOOK OUT!" he shouted at once to Reno.

He hadn't finished the warning when Davoren suddenly swung around the corner, flashing out his cool semi-automatic. Each man barely parried aside in time, just as the wild rain of bullets tore silence apart.

Vincent huddled behind a stiff throng of pipes, hiding his face from the furious sparks blitzing this shelter. He peeked over across the hall.  
There, he found a hard-gasping Reno glued behind some delivery tank. That had been a narrow escape for him.

Amidst this madness, Vincent gave Reno a quick set of gestures which translated "I will attack first, then you follow in". Reno nodded. Despite the generation difference, these two former Turks could still communicate with their special sign language.

No sooner had the plan been set, than Vincent thrust out his arm for heavy retaliation. An all-out war erupted, loud and furious. Both sides exchanged fire at once, neither one surrendering to the other.

In a sudden rush of blood, Vincent doubled his gunfire, thereby overpowering the enemy for a split moment. But Reno seized this opportunity,  
just as Vincent backed off to reload. With one incredible twirl of the staff, he swung out a fierce ring of charged fire, then hurtled this energy straight at Davoren's shelter.

It blasted the upper support girders dead on, rocking the walls with a thunderous boom. The wretched supports groaned under the pipework's hefty weight. Soon, the entire delivery system above stormed to an uproarious collapse.

Amidst the flying debris and swirls of dust, they spotted the gunman roll out into the open, having just narrowly escaped the destruction. The next move followed at once. Both allies rolled out of their hideouts: Vincent resumed full fire at Davoren, while Reno lunged in for a swift attack.

The clever ambush astonished Davoren. Vincent's hailstorm of hot lead showered him whole, shoving him back without a chance to retaliate. At the same moment, he perceived Reno rush straight for him, head bent low, weapon sparking electric charge. He was trapped. Next blink, and Reno jabbed for the target.

The prong struck clean into Davoren's chest. Immediately, an insane surge of electricity ripped through his body top to bottom, jerking his head so far back one thought it would snap. It brutally rattled his core with raw charge until sparks crackled out.

Yet Reno suddenly broke off this attack for an instant follow-up. He assaulted the enemy with a quick series of mini-attacks, stabbing here,  
striking there, until he reeled aside for Vincent to take aim. Vincent sprayed the gunman a second time, then finished with a final shot point-blank in the forehead, so precise Davoren slammed back against the wall; he now stood thrashed up in place.

An awkward pause befell the air now that the attack had finished. The two allies beheld the gunman, Reno gasping in awe of such incredible resistance. Indeed, none of the fatal attacks had even scratched Davoren's good humor, let alone affected his body. The gunman steadied himself again. Both men tensed back in rigid anticipation.

"Hey, no fair! Two against one," beamed Davoren pleasantly, "And here I thought only 'bad guys' could cheat."

Vincent foresaw instant danger, whereby he pulled Reno away. His fast reaction coincided with the gunman's attack: Davoren suddenly yanked out a second semi-automatic from within his suit-jacket, and fired two guns at once.

Both men raced the wild gunfire down the hallway until they dodged around some corner. They bolted through the black maze as if chased behind by devils. Fortunately however, Davoren did not give pursuit.

The rush took them deeper into this bleak jungle. Reno gasped out, "How long was that?"

"Just over three minutes."

"ONLY THREE MINUTES!" he cried aloud, "Man, your watch's too slow!"

Rather than bicker, Vincent coolly suggested, "It's best we split up and hunt Davoren down. The first to find him will alert the other."

"Right!"

"Be careful."

"Yeah. You too."

They diverged onto different paths. Reno disappeared down the grim corridor. Vincent took some side-hall, straight through the darkness.

Precious time was slipping by. This madness must end fast. He wanted to reach Aeris...before Professor Hojo did.

The long-winded path ended abruptly. Vincent found himself at the entrance of the North Wing Compressor Centre, as could be read from the sign fitted above. From his place at the threshold, he appeared a tall, black figure,  
with suspicious eyes scrutinizing the interior: here was the upper deck hall. Dozens of compressor tanks stood in rows across the hall, like ancient tower-guardians wasted away by corrosion. Giant pipe lines fed into their conical heads. Smaller ducts and wires interconnected the wasted system together. Misery and darkness had long reduced this once glorious kingdom to a haunted wasteland.

Vincent felt a horrible misgiving arise as he beheld such dead ruins.  
Above the shadows and musty air, there lingered a silence which meant only one thing: Davoren was here.

He snatched the conclusion, just as his keen sniper senses warned him someone had taken direct aim of his head.

All at once, Vincent swung aside to evade the treacherous gunshot. Yet the bombardment, enraged by that lucky miss, blasted away after the slippery target, who in a flash, had already dodged behind one of the compressor tanks.

He granted himself only a single breath to steady his nerves and pin-point his enemy's location before returning full fire. Vincent aimed at the tank positioned further back, more specifically, its conical head. Davoren had concealed himself there.

Neither side spared the other. At times, Vincent emptied his gun in one round. Other times, he huddled back as chaos pelted the iron off his shelter. His bullets battled the wrath of twin semi-automatics non-stop.  
Sparks flew, lead zinged, and rage swelled more.

When the stand-off grew too heated, Davoren suddenly broke away. He leapt off the battered tank, then dashed aside for another shelter, blasting at Vincent all the way. But Vincent would not be driven back. He shoved a fresh cartridge of bullets into his gun, then charged after this enemy.

The two men played the deadly game "shoot-and-dodge" again, this time with the ferocity of crazed demons. They chased each other across the isles of tanks, blasting, evading, and returning fire. Their loud skirmishes suffocated the air. Their black figures whizzed by at speeds incomprehensible to the mind. Both guns screamed murder until Heaven itself heard them.

Vincent never diverted his concentration off this battle; one stray thought could be fatal. He ignored the sweat pouring down his face. Nor dared he count the number of times Davoren had missed his flesh for his coat. From the bitter sting gnawing his left arm, he realized he had been wounded.

For his part, Vincent strained both speed and hearing to the very limits.  
He listened out for Davoren's quick footsteps, letting that be his "radar"  
amidst this crazy war. He knew for sure he had hit the gunman twice. But getting an effective blow at Davoren was no easy task, at least not this way.

Vincent almost stumbled over as a hot surge of pain boiled up his ravaged lungs; just a reminder that there also raged a bitter war inside. Only by stubborn force did he suppress this agony back. Not now. He could not afford a coughing fit now.

His alarm suddenly darted upwards, just in time to witness one precise bullet blast a clamp supporting three overhead pipes. The weak clamp shattered open, and the monstrous weights plunged down towards Vincent,  
raining iron debris in their path.

Vincent exerted all force into one desperate forward dash. The earth-shaking collapse missed him by a hair. But between the vicious dust and confusion, he slipped off his guard for one moment, enough for Davoren to attack.

Indeed, Vincent did not detect him until to late.

With one mighty swing upward, Davoren struck the butt of his gun hard against the underside of Vincent's chin; so powerful it sent him flying backwards in numb stupefaction.

Yet despite the violent pain, Vincent managed to anticipate Davoren move in for the kill. At once, his shattered senses recovered their shock,  
whereby he somehow tumbled back onto one knee. Vincent immediately opened rapid fire at Davoren, who still came charging forth like a mad bull.

Every bullet hit the bare-handed gunman; some deflected off his head and body, other tore through his suit, all to no avail. He lunged at a phenomenal speed straight for his target. In return, Vincent stood up,  
doubling his fire until the angry gun vibrated in his hand. Nothing could stop this demon, not even as he suddenly pounced forward!

Vincent saw Davoren yank out a jagged scrap of iron he had probably snatched from the debris. He perceived his thrust it at him. But his reaction came one milli-second too late.

It jabbed him like a sharp dagger. Vincent roared a hideous grunt as he felt a murderous pain pierce clean into the side of his abdomen: Davoren had stabbed him with the cruel metal piece.

Yet far from finished, the ruthless gunman wrenched Vincent aside by the iron piece, right over the balustrade. Poor Vincent spun wildly downwards until he crashed flat upon his back. The wretched man curled on his side at once, writhing amidst a whirl of fresh pain, with that blood-stained dagger still thrust in his side. A terrible buzz droned his ears.

He had plunged a considerable height onto the lower deck hall. Davoren, on the other hand, beheld the delightful sight from the balustrade above. Just like Vincent, the brutal battle had torn his clothes and messed up his white hair. His tie had even been loosened a bit to open his collar. But otherwise, he stood unaffected. Not even that evil, sadistic gaze had dulled a tinge.

For Vincent, it was a vicious struggle between consciousness and darkness.  
There he lay, helpless against such wild agony. It left him heaving hard,  
every gasp another stab to his lungs. His face, so contorted by pain, was half buried in his lustrous long hair, with teeth gnashed tight.

"You're still to weak in battle tactics," he heard Davoren's flat voice scold from above.

Vincent's rage flared up at that mockery. He darted his hateful glare far up to the gunman, "And you're still too confident!"

It all happened instantly. In a sudden wake of strength, Vincent fired one single bullet straight up at the astonished gunman, who barely evaded in time. But the unexpected bullet hadn't been intended for him. Instead, it hit the compressor tank right behind him; actually, the gas cylinder.

The blasted container hissed a soft warning before exploding at full force, spewing a wild hellstorm of fire and debris all around.

The violence swept Vincent backwards like a leaf caught in a hurricane. He tumbled wildly until he slammed against the wall, then hid his head as iron scraps and stone shrapnel flew about. . The impact had dizzied him further.  
The roar of fire deafened his ears

He had scored a hefty blow against the enemy. By sheer luck, Vincent had caught Davoren in the middle of the explosion. But still, he knew it hadn't killed him.

Indeed, It hadn't. On lifting his head again, Vincent spotted Davoren sprawled upon the floor some distance away. Apparently, the blast had sent him crashing hard upon the lower hall. But the invincible gunman slowly struggled to rise, uninjured, perhaps a bit annoyed.

Above, the entire blasted compressor blazed in hot brilliance. It cast a bright red-orange hue upon the scene below. The flames crackled in cruel satisfaction as they beheld the damage and spume of debris around.

It hurt to move. Nevertheless, Vincent would not surrender. His trembling hand groped along his side for that iron dagger. He wrenched it out by force, wincing aside as the cold metal tore out of his hot flesh. Vincent contemptuously flung it away, then somehow climbed back to his wobbly feet.  
Despite gasps, pain, and buzzing headaches, the man stood up in place. This battle was far from over. He would fight on.

Davoren too had stood up by now: his once fine suit had been singed and torn. Two horrible rips marked where stray shrapnel had torn through his shoulder, another his thigh. Many hair strands hung loose infront of a stoic, dirty face. But his narrow pink eyes lingered on Vincent alone,  
their malice brighter than the fire above.

The gunman, after sweeping back his disheveled hair, straightened his tattered jacket. He dwelt a moment over his burnt sleeve.

"Hm...you've ruined my good clothes. I'll give you that much," Davoren praised rather indifferently.

He wasn't impressed at all, not even as he beheld Vincent grip his gun in readiness, eyes glowing cool crimson. Davoren gladly obliged by producing one semi-automatic. For him, killing Vincent would be a pleasure.

They stood frozen in a moment of bitter hostility. Each man had dealt a severe blow to the other. It seemed inevitable they'd fight on forever until Death claimed one.

And then, the moment passed.

They lunged into action at the same time, both men swinging up their weapons for a fierce shoot-out. But before Davoren could even take aim, he found himself, much to his angry astonishment, prisoner inside a pyramid of electric energy.

The strange shield could have sprung up for Hell itself; it had materialized so fast without any warning. Vincent gaped wide as the flabbergasted Davoren struggled to budge free. All in vain. He was trapped.

Trapped and wide open. Davoren shot his alarmed eyes behind, just in time to witness Reno's surprise attack: with the accuracy of a marksman, Reno thrust his staff like a spear through the electric pyramid, straight into the gunman's spine. Direct hit, deadly consequences.

The attack dazzled the sight but horrified the mind. Surge after surge of electricity mangled Davoren to madness, so violent his body and head twisted in shock. It tore havoc through his spine across every limb. He was locked in place by that vicious prong, unable to escape, unable to scream.  
Nor would Reno spare him. The insane sparks flying about proved he had cranked the nightstaff to maximum output.

Next came the grand finale. No sooner had Reno yanked out the staff, than the entire pyramid exploded to a collapse, blasting its hapless prisoner through a swirl of charge and flames. Amazingly however, Davoren emerged alive. He stumbled forth amidst blind dizziness, with smoke trailing from his burnt back, but still on both feet.

Reno embraced his chance at once. He flanked Davoren's side, aiming to hammer in a volley of swift attacks. But much to his surprise, Davoren regained balance in time to parry. To Reno's further shock (and pain), the gunman rammed one powerful elbow clean into his face, hard enough to send him tumbling like a barrel across the hall.

This failure aroused Vincent to instant action. Taking a firm stand upfront, he fired a full round of bullets at Davoren; perhaps he could confuse him off guard again. No such luck. The gunman gracefully flipped out of harm's way.

However, he only returned a few shots before beating a hasty retreat.  
Davoren dashed away at such an incredible speed, over the balustrade onto the third deck down below. Soon, darkness swallowed him.

He was gone. A fortunate thing since Vincent could no longer repress this painful seizure. Between the wounds and vicious dizziness, he crumbled to a collapse. He sat hunched over amidst an outbreak of hacks and coughs,  
groping through this wretchedness for precious air. His lungs writhed inside his tight, hot chest. They howled outloud for mercy.

The attacks were worsening, nor could he suppress this continuous flood of fits forever. He had finally abated this one, but would he be so lucky next time?

"Crap! Hey, Vinnie! Pull yourself together!" cried a muffled voice. He felt someone shake him by the shoulders.

Vincent forced his dazed senses back into focus. He found Reno squatted down infront of him, one cheek bruised from Davoren's elbow, but otherwise unharmed.

"..ah..I..I'm alright..," Vincent gasped weakly, struggling to maintain some steady balance.

"Like Hell you are!" Good thing you guys fight loud, or I wouldn't have got here in time," retorted Reno. He beheld Vincent's battered state, "But man! He thrashed you good!"

No argument there. Vincent remained slouched upon the floor in tired misery. A hectic fever burned his ashen face, with hair strands dangling dead before haggard red eyes. Blood stained his wounds, bruises, cuts and raw aches ravaged every limb, all testimony of his incredible endurance and hard stubbornness. Indeed, Vincent owed much thanks to his abnormal body.

Nevertheless, the intensity of the last battle had overworked him to illness. He needed at least a few moments to steady himself again.

"Okay. You sit this one out for a minute," Reno solemnly declared with a nod, "It's my turn. I'll take him on 'till you come."

The rash decision rather alarmed Vincent. He staggered up to his feet,  
about to protest, but by then, Reno had already dashed away to pursue the enemy.

He stood there, lost amidst a flash of thoughts: most likely, Davoren now understood their clever plan; both allies would work together to destroy his invincibility level. On realizing how many fatal attacks he had sustained, the gunman had wisely retreated. He knew they'd soon come hunting after him, hoping to eliminate him.

It was like trapping an animal. But didn't Reno know? Some animals turn vicious when forced into a corner.

-End of Chp.62

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site! http/ Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way. 


	60. Chapter 63

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.63 

Darkness saw no end throughout these hollow halls of ancient stone, rusted metal and clustered pipes. Deep within this jungle, there hung an eerie silence in the chilly air. For an eternity, it had reigned unchallenged.

That is until a quick rush of footsteps echoed down the corridor. The intruder emerged as a tall, black figure dashing forth at top speed. It didn't matter which path he took. Nor cared this brazen phantom much about disturbing the tranquility. Right now, far graver matters pressed upon him.

After breaking away from that fight, Davoren had retreated into the darkest depths of this Delivery Centre. He still held one semi-automatic within a tight grip. Behind him stretched the void further and further, but his stern glare instead focused up front.

Deeper and deeper he flew through the maze, fuelled onwards by the urgency of the situation.

The path finally stopped at a dead-end, a dismal shelter Davoren was forced to accept. He slumped against the stone wall. Soon, he began to tumble many thoughts behind closed eyes, exasperation written clear on his dirty face. He held the gun in both hands, arms loosely stretched downwards. He struck a lonely figure there, more overwhelmed by events than blows.

The gunman lingered thus for a rather long time, as if awaiting something to happen. Around him loomed the darkness, a black curtain that draped in heavy folds upon this wasteland. Above him hovered silence, ominous and absolute.

A strange, soft sound suddenly reached the gunman's ears. When he realized this unfamiliar sound emanated from himself, Davoren snapped his eyes wide open: yes. He was gasping. Up till now, he had not noticed.

A rather silly discovery to fret about, yet nevertheless, the gunman gaped at his heaving chest, even pressed it to confirm his sight; the movements were quick and subdued, indicating only minor strain. But still, he was gasping.

His expression darkened to a grave frown. He knew what this ill-omen meant only too well.

Davoren scornfully swallowed down the gasps. His stern attention turned to his weapon. He ejected an almost empty cartridge, then jammed in a new one,  
cocking it once when done.

His preparation came at the most opportune time. Davoren's sharp senses suddenly warned eminent danger, whereby he instantly evaded aside. The moment passed as a single blink: a missile of charged fire shrieked straight by, spraying wild sparks all the way. It narrowly missed Davoren for the stone wall behind, and exploded at full impact, blasting rubble high into the air.

Heavy swirls of dust rushed about. The explosion had left a deep crater in the hapless wall as blatant proof of its power. But Davoren's unimpressed glare rested on the sneaky attacker, who stood poised some distance up ahead.

Reno had the gunman cornered down this blind hall. That blast had been a mere announcement of his arrival. And now that he caught Davoren's undivided attention, the man slacked off into an easy attack-stance,  
intending a far more serious fight.

Nevertheless, Reno couldn't help but smirk vindictively at the ruined state of Davoren's once fine appearance, "Not bad for a 'magic wand', eh Gramps?"

Davoren deemed it better to bare his gun than answer. For a moment, he measured up this new opponent, observing in particular how well the dangerous staff befitted those nimble fingers.

Discrete caution marked the gunman's stoic demeanor, more so as he drew his own weapon closer. Indeed, this enemy had already caught him twice off guard.

A playful glitter lit up Reno's narrow, sea-green eyes. They held Davoren half in mockery, half in contempt, "Y'know, Vinnie tells me you used to be leader of the Turks."

"And you?" replied the calm gunman, "You and your other friend were Turks also, correct?"

"Hey, not bad! Yeah, you guys saw the company rise to the skies, 'n we saw it collapse to the mud."

Davoren granted himself a small smile, "The old generation meets the new,  
hm?"

"Heh! Guess so."

No more pleasantry. Reno's whole appearance dropped dead-serious as he suddenly made a headlong lunge into combat. Davoren was prepared, so was his gun: it blasted straight into action.

Time, like this battle, escalated to an incredible pace. Reno somehow swerved out of range, doubling his speed until he reached the gunman upfront. There, he thrust in his nightstaff; fast but not fast enough.  
Davoren had already maneuvered around, which brought him to Reno's unprotected back. He simply aimed for the head, and fired.

By miracle, Reno ducked down, just as that treacherous bullet zinged overhead. He took advantage of his crouched position by jabbing his staff upwards, right for Davoren's jaw. Failed again. The gunman gracefully flipped backwards with one hand, and the staff cut through empty air instead.

Reno hadn't time to curse his luck. On gaining enough space, Davoren introduced his second semi-automatic onto the scene. With a loud oath, Reno rolled aside as the twin guns pelted the floor after him.

One thing for certain: Davoren's concentration had dangerously improved.  
Reno reached that painful realization when three bullets razed his body,  
one his head. He almost lost momentum from shock.

Yet far from intimidated, the man tumbled through heated gunfire to the far side, where he scrambled onto one knee for instant retaliation: Reno slashed his nightstaff in a quick outward sweep. The action spewed a roarous fireball of electricity, spinning madly through a spiral path straight for Davoren.

The gunman, who had come charging at Reno, anticipated the incoming volley. With such incredible athleticism, Davoren leapt forth over the wild fireball, tumbling only once before resuming his path. The blast collided with a clamorous boom into a thicket a pipes behind.

Astonished beyond words, Reno darted away, just before the furious bullets lashed a hellstorm upon his spot. It pursued his as he dashed across the battered hall. It riddled the walls, and spluttered against the metal.

If Reno didn't "do something now", he knew he'd end up a bloody corpse on the ground.

He frowned at the unpleasant thought. Therefore, Reno shifted back into offense, even gripping his charged staff to full attack-mode. He wheeled around to make a new lunge for his adroit adversary, keeping his own head below this chaos.

Davoren prepared to meet a fresh round of attacks, this time in cool readiness.

Reno assaulted his opponent with an impressive barrage of jabs and thrusts, targeting every vital point in sight. The nightstaff whiffed electric sparks. The movements were quick and accurate, but sadly fruitless. Davoren evaded every attack with such ease, ducking here,  
tilting there. The enraged Reno skittered forwards, while Davoren seemed to simply dance backwards.

Suddenly, the gunman stopped this useless game by swinging up one mighty foot for Reno's head. Reno narrowly dodged, where the foot slammed a hard dent into a pipeline instead of his skull. Nevertheless, Davoren hammered on unaffected.

In a flash, Reno spotted a potential opening in Davoren; his final hope.  
All strength rushed to both arms. He swept the staff like a sword down upon the gunman's head, blazing a trail of charge towards this target.

What followed astounded Reno to a loud exclamation of "WHAT THE:  
Davoren had cleverly blocked that desperate attack by crossing his two guns overhead. They formed an X, with the nightstaff wedged in between, still crackling angry electricity.

Two words came to Reno's mind: "Oh, shit."

Perhaps now he understood why Vincent had warned him not to underestimate this gunman.

In this moment of blank shock, Reno could not anticipate Davoren deliver one brutal kick hard against the side of his ribcage. The stunned man was sent slamming back-first into a wall of pipes, which rattled stiffly on impact.

That blow had knocked more than wind from his chest. Reno would have collapsed, yet savagely retched a cry when something hard rammed straight into his abdomen. It pinned him up against the wall. On opening one bleary eye, he found Davoren leaning towards him. One foot was dug deep into Reno's stomach, while the gunman balanced himself upon the other foot, gun in hand. Thus Reno was now prisoner.

Davoren ruthlessly asserted his authority. The foot shoved further into Reno's battered stomach, causing him to grunt amidst a froth of blood and saliva.

"Oh, please forgive me," apologized Davoren in cold sarcasm, "I've forgotten how...delicate normal humans are. Been a while since I was one."

Poor Reno had no strength to breathe, let alone speak. He remained pinned in place, haggard eyes struggling to stay focused. His pigtail hung dead over one shoulder. However, despite this agony, Reno still clutched his nightstaff tight.

Davoren, on the other hand, looked the epitome of cool confidence. The pink gleam in his eyes flickered sinister amusement, even though his face remained ever stern.

Death lingered but a heartbeat away. In such a dire situation, one could beg for mercy, resist, or accept this fate. Reno chose none. Instead, his lips twisted into a weak, crooked smile.

Davoren was a bit surprised, "You find this amusing?"

"Ah?..n-no...," croaked the prisoner through pressing pain, "I..I used to have a leader...back when I was Turk..great guy too. It's just-ugh! You fight A LOT better than he could've ever hoped to."

Davoren did not flinch, but accepted the compliment anyway.

"So tell me," confronted Reno so simply, "What kinda music do you like?"

The gunman blinked at this most unexpected digression, "Eh..excuse me?"

"Music! I figure you like all those fuddy-duddy songs the rest of the old folk listen to."

"Young man," retorted Davoren, "I'll have you know: whatever music us 'old folk' like is better than the noise you brain-dead kids listen to nowadays."

He paused on realizing how ridiculous this conversation was, more that he had actually participated in it. Reno, more amused than ever, asked outright, "Ever heard of the 'Bottle Song'?"

"...'Bottle Song'?...no."

"Really? It's my favorite! It goes like this," he broke off into an upbeat hum, "Duhn-doo-duhn...I'd rather have a bottle infront of meeee...than a frontal lobotomeeee...doo-doo-duhn.."

Perhaps Reno had taken leave of his senses. Davoren gaped at this crazy prisoner, then sighed aside, "NOW I know why the company fell apart.."

Reno's ruse had been deviously simple: to talk the gunman off guard. In flash of strength, he snatched his chance, and thrust up the staff straight for Davoren's chest, aiming to electrocute him again.

A commendable trick; if only Davoren hadn't already seen through it.

There was no need to even dodge. With uncanny reflexes, the ruthless gunman swacked the weapon out of Reno's stunned hand, then somehow flipped it into his own grip. Revenge came sweet: Davoren immediately jabbed the charged prong clean against Reno's shoulder; a taste of his own medicine.

Air snuffed out. Reno's whole body writhed wildly as surges of electric madness ravaged him like a thunder storm. Crackles and savage sparks drowned over his desperate scream. They scorched through cloth for flesh,  
and rattled him for a torturous eternity.

Yet eternity actually lasted a mere moment. Davoren, who still had Reno pinned up with one foot, suddenly yanked the staff out. The stunned victim slumped over in speechless shock.

"Nice try, sonny," praised Davoren callously, "You're lucky you didn't charge that toy to maximum. It could have fried your arm off."

Reno could barely hold that evil gaze through the buzzing pain. Davoren's vicious words aroused a hazy awareness about his now wrecked state; one charred shoulder, scruffy-dirty clothes, and bleeding wounds. Indeed, the old generation had thrashed some humility into the new.

Too bad he wouldn't live long to cherish the lesson. Davoren flung the dead staff behind, then flashed one gun straight into Reno's forehead.

It would end now.

When thus confronted by doom, Reno seized the most desperate hope from within his jacket, and simply acted: he snapped open some flask with his thumb, then splashed all its contents right into Davoren's astonished face.

The sudden move shocked the gunman with a confused cry. He staggered two steps back against the brash liquid, thereby releasing Reno from captivity.  
However, Reno could barely balance himself up, let alone follow through any attack. Instead, he remained weakly slumped against the wall. He watched the flabbergasted Davoren struggle madly to rub off that tarnation.

He had not expected that flask-attack. This liquid could be some sinister acid, or any other chemical. However, Davoren paused when the taste reached his lips: deliciously sweet and luscious, just like...

"Wine!" he exclaimed, turning to Reno in disbelief.

"Beer, actually. Wine's too expensive for me."

Fury flared red-hot as Davoren spat out the beverage, "YOU THREW BEER IN MY FACE!"

"So I'm an alcoholic! So what!" the angry Reno retorted, "You had a damn GUN pointed at my head!"

Suddenly, a stern voice from behind shouted, "Reno, out of the way!"

Events swept by too fast for comprehension. Reno obeyed without thinking;  
he scrambled aside for cover. At the same moment, Davoren darted his alarmed eyes far behind, where they met a hard crimson glare fixed behind a ready gun.

It was the perfect chance. In all this fluster of distractions, Vincent had caught Davoren wide open.

The ruthless bombardment pelted Davoren backwards. Such intensity, like Satan's fiercest hellstorm, overpowered any attempted retaliation. One blast after another. Vincent showered the gunman in hot lead, not sparing a second in between shots. With every bullet, he advanced forwards, while the gunman reeled back against this madness.

When he reached Reno's discarded nightstaff, Vincent kicked it over to its owner, who readily flipped it back to life within his nimble grasp. The two allies worked together: Vincent suddenly halted the bullet-blitz, just before Reno seized the opportunity for an attack.

He thrust the charged prong fully against Davoren's chest, then blasted one electric explosion clean through the torso, just like a rifle. So powerful, it sent the gunman flying across until he slammed his back hard against the wall. There, he slumped to the floor, slouched up amidst a buzz of confusion.

His suit had been tattered, riddled across in bullets, and his white hair dangled in a mess. His once elegant jacket was blasted half-way open, exposing his frumpled collar and loose tie. Indeed, while his clothes had not survived, Davoren had certainly endured this fight. It was a wonder how anyone could bear so many fatal attacks, even with an invincibility level.

And now a dwindling invincibility level. They had passed eight minutes.

Not to say that Vincent had fared better. His side-wound stung bitterly, sometimes to the point where breathing itself became impossible. It took some effort to stay focused, much more to tolerate his injuries and aches. Yet there shone a feverish glow in Vincent's eyes; a strained sheen which indicated great pain repressed inside.

Nevertheless, he took a moment to check on Reno, who chafed his burnt shoulder in vexation. That attack had cost him much strength.

"Are you alright?" asked Vincent.

"I just got thrashed, electrocuted, AND wasted good beer," growled Reno, "OF COURSE I'm not alright!"

Though silent, Vincent's cool eyes spoke his reproval: I told you not to underestimate him.

"Okay! Don't rub it in, Vampy!" Reno paused, then added softly and rather awkwardly, "..thanks, man."

At least he earned some gratitude for rushing to Reno's rescue. Though Vincent had to admire him for using such...unconventional methods to distract the gunman so well.

A contemptuous snort brought them back to the present. They both heard Davoren's voice sneer, "Heh! You shouldn't take your eyes off your enemy."

Vincent swung around in alarm, but was too late: the gunman, already half-standing, opened a full round at the two men, who immediately dispersed for cover. Yet rather than pursue any further, Davoren instead blasted some gasket nearby. Heavy swirls of steam whooshed out upon the scene, blinding all sight to a haze. It choked the hall in loud chaos.

Luckily however, the mist soon dispersed. Vincent searched all over for the gunman. No trace; he had disappeared.

His expression darkened. Vincent's keen sight then lifted up towards the huge delivery system overhead. He spotted a grate hanging open, where the square vent led to an ominous void inside.

The gunman must have escaped through there. Both men stood just below the vent, lost in a moment of thoughtful silence. Right now, several options lay before them.

"Listen," decided Reno solemnly, "You go up there. Find him, 'n keep him occupied for a few minutes. I got an idea."

Vincent silently demanded an explanation.

"There's no time for that," insisted the man in a hurry, "But remember: when ya hear a rumbling sound, get yourself outta there AS FAST AS POSSIBLE!"

Though Vincent hadn't even a vague idea of Reno's plan, he put his trust in his comrade, and nodded in agreement: he'd assume defense, while this man would carry out his mysterious offense.

All settled then. They broke off again. Reno dashed down the corridor to fulfill his task. In the meantime, Vincent gracefully sprang high up to the open vent, and crawled into the void.

Eight minutes passed, seven more to go.

Wait for me..Aeris, he thought, just wait for me a bit longer...

-End of Chp.63

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	61. Chapter 64

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.64 

There was no time to waste. Once Vincent had ascended into the vent, he began a quick crawl forward. The gun felt comfortable in his rigid grip.  
Instinct had been whetted to peak sharpness, wary of every movement and sound around.

Through this voracious void stretched the iron caverns of darkness. It took Vincent a moment to adjust his sight, and even then he could barely distinguish the grim surroundings. It was a nightmare of pipes and ducts,  
all interconnected like a web into each other. Some were oval, others square. Every few yards, Vincent chanced upon a peculiar gauge fitted to the thick wall.

The cold air stung his hot face, more bitter than icy needles prickling his skin. He had to grimace at the putrid stench here, one of stale rust mixed with Mako fumes. Once upon a time, these life-vessels had pumped green riches from the Planet's heart straight into the Reactor. Now, all that remained of that glorious era were the smells and this hollow system.  
Such a miserable waste.

Paths led to more paths. Soon, he found himself in the main duct, where several side-pipes fed into it from both sides. As Vincent crawled deeper,  
he became increasingly aware of the silence. It slithered through the pipework like an evil serpent, spreading its eerie aura all around.

Vincent stopped short when the aura became too strong. His suspicious eyes, two brilliant rubies, glared around this darkness. His senses heightened. Inside, pain boiled his torn lungs, yet somehow, he suppressed his breaths to the barest minimum. He listened...listened out for the dreaded gunman.

The suspense endured forever. He lingered patiently like a hunter awaiting his prey to appear, or a prey awaiting his hunter to attack. Right now,  
even he could not determine which analogy described the situation.

He suddenly heard a small clatter sound from behind. Quicker than lightening, Vincent swung his gun around at the source. But much to his confusion, he only found an empty bullet cartridge discarded upon the floor.

Very strange. That object hadn't been there before. Then where had...

The sudden realization flashed danger. Vincent shot his eyes around to the front again, just as Davoren came rolling out of a side-vent, both guns bared for action. He blasted hell at Vincent, who miraculously reacted fast enough to dodge into another duct.

The tactful gunman has almost ambushed him. By distracting him from behind, he had then snuck up through the network, and attacked from the front. Indeed, Vincent could only attribute his survival to devil's luck;  
he hadn't even discerned Davoren creep here.

He hadn't time to praise his cunning foe; danger pressed upon the moment.  
Fierce bombardment battered his shelter, sputtering wild spark against metal. He could even feel the wall rattle behind him. Vincent waited for a brief lapse in gunfire, whereby he then thrust his arm around for brutal retaliation, at least to push Davoren back.

Which proved no easy task. The gunman too had huddled behind a corner further up, with twin guns hard at work. Both sides exchanged a hearty barrage of bullets, each man in a race to overpower the other.

In the end, however, they broke off into a mad scramble. Vincent glimpsed the phantom gunman whisk across the mainline into another side-pipe. He only took a split-moment to reload before pursuing his enemy. He couldn't afford to lose him in this maze.

The paths jumbled into a webwork of confusion. More side-vents; roads which slid downwards, others climbed upwards. Darkness hampered sight. Through such chaos, Vincent relied on his keen hearing for guidance. He pursued Davoren's light scruffles up the complex network.  
Vincent crawled quickly after the enemy, gun held back for any confrontation, eyes narrowed down upon the void up ahead.

"Keep him occupied for a few minutes", Reno had instructed. Vincent frowned. He couldn't guess what plan that man had concocted. But he'd just have to maintain a hard defense to buy him enough time.

That is, IF Davoren didn't kill him first. It seemed the longer that gunman fought, the more demonic he became.

Vincent suddenly felt the tables turn against him. His sight just happened to stray aside to a black vent perpendicular to this path, where they glimpsed an evil pair of pink eyes twinkling behind the corner. All at once, Vincent rolled himself back, narrowly escaping the wild hailstorm.

Another ambush failed. Vincent's anger rose; he couldn't depend on luck forever! He knew not when or how this shrewd madman had intercepted his path, but he would get the better of him yet: two could play that game.

Therefore, Vincent returned a few shots just to occupy his enemy's attention. Shifting to a quick, noiseless crawl, he then retraced his path back to some side-tunnel. Through darkness and more vents, until at last,  
he snuck around the final corner, thereby catching Davoren from behind.

But not good enough to catch him unawares. The alarmed gunman reacted the same instant Vincent blasted full fire. He somehow tumbled through the madness for cover, protected all the way by his own devilish luck. This ambush had failed too. Vincent growled a soft curse.

Again, they bartered a heavy bout of gunshots. Again, they broke off.  
Despite all attempts, neither man could win the upper hand.

The situation escalated to a frenzy. Two demons in a mad scrimmage to destroy the other, darkness their sacred battle-grounds. Their energy sprung from black devils and unholy spirits cheering them onwards. Their bitter hostility flared sparks through the air.

Time was obliterated amidst the insane cross-fire. Loud skirmishes and rough scruffles echoed throughout. The insane rat-tat-tat of those semi-automatics battled a deadly handgun. The two adversaries moved through the labyrinth at mind-boggling speeds. They chased each other around. They blasted at each other non-stop.

Reason be damned. In this war, they fought based on one animal instinct:  
kill or be killed.

Vincent heard his own loud heartbeats pound above this blitz. The fit swelled further inside its prison chest, howling for freedom against these tight muscles. Many long hair strands swayed across his sweaty face.  
Vincent knew there trailed blood behind him. Yet he never thought of counting his wounds and aches; nor would he be bothered now about his wretched pain or ruined appearance. That all would come later. Instead, he riveted his rigid concentration upon this moment.

His success depended on it. Aeris, the sole thing that kept his fury alive..she depended on it.

He wished Reno would hurry up.

"Dammit!" swore Reno for the fifth time.

He flew through the madhouse of corridors, pressed hard for speed. Quite fast, even though harsh pain still gnawed his shoulder, and his stomach felt gutted clean. In the network overhead, there resounded the faint gunshots of war, sometimes so fierce, Reno would steal a quick glance up,  
and marvel how Vincent kept it up.

Nevertheless, he rushed onwards. His angry eyes searched desperately for something in particular. Here nothing. There nothing. He had to swear a sixth time.

At last came deliverance: a metal box fitted into the brick wall, with several impressive cable lines snaking up to the ceiling. Reno squatted down upon one knee. He tore open the cover to inspect the interior. It appeared to be some control console. There was one screen, numerous switches and control panels, with a complex assortment of wires.

Reno tried a switch. Nothing stirred. There was no power.

He frowned gravely, then hunched over further, at the same time flicking out a wicked jack-knife from his pocket. Without hesitation, the man delved into his task.

His stern eyes proved he fully understood his actions. Reno flicked on a few more switches before tackling the array of wires. There, he tinkered through the connections, all the while using his nimble fingers and sharp knife. Reno worked with incredible dexterity through this jumbled mess.

He owed much thanks to all those hard training sessions back in the old bomb-squad days. And of course, the long, grueling hours endured to become an electro-technician specialist (though he still hated that grouchy instructor...may his miserable soul rot in Hell, amen).

When the initial set-up was complete, Reno grabbed his nightstaff next.  
There was a small slit alongside this fine weapon, concealed behind a metal piece. Reno slid up the cover to reveal the wired interior. Using the very tip of his knife, he pulled out one end of some red wire, careful not to touch its flat prong.

Through mumbled encouragements like "C'mon baby...c'mon..", Reno inserted the red wire into the socket of one panel. That done, he cranked the staff to maximum output. Immediately, the whole console lit to life with a sharp bleep of gratitude; just what Reno prayed for: he had used his own electrical weapon to revive the console.

A self-assured nod was definitely in order, "Reno, my boy... you are just TOO good!"

The man punched in a quick series of buttons until a password was demanded for entry. He typed in the not-so-original response "MAKO", whereby a long scroll of texts and digits danced down his keen scrutiny.

Not at all confused, he chose "activate" on the option screen, then pressed a special button encased in glass. His choice was confirmed twice.  
Finally, the screen obediently displayed a bar-graph loading different commands. At the bottom, there read a gradual count-up to 100:..6.66...10.07..12.32..

Reno looked up towards the ceiling again. Just a bit longer.. if only Vincent could keep it up a bit longer...

Brutality had long possessed the body, bitter hatred the mind, but still this inferno raged on hot as ever. The insane bullets spared nothing. They riddled darkness to pieces. They battered the metalwork. Crazed shuffles filled the black tunnels, in constant motion to surpass the other.

Here waged a war between two devils hell-bent on sheer survival, Death the ultimate arbitrator. Around them swirled Satan's army, some cheering the ruby-eyed demon, others the white-haired phantom. It didn't really matter.  
Soon, one man would join their ranks.

Vincent found it increasingly difficult to keep up this wild pace. He had sustained new injuries and escaped many fatal near-misses (too near to his liking). The fever felt like a furnace, burning his very core out to the skin.

His grip was tight around the gun. His sharp hearing, probably his most important sense now, discerned every movement and sound around. He crawled quickly, sometimes even sped to a half-dash. Anything to stay alive in this madness.

"Madness" described the battle perfectly. The labyrinth seemed to grow more convoluted, neither opponent pausing for a minute. Vincent pursued Davoren through the network. He swept around the corner, where he spotted a black figure scuffling away down the tunnel. His gun went into automatic action. However, the fast figure had already dodged into a side-vent. Nor was it intimidated one bit. Much to Vincent's alarm, the enemy thrust out both guns, one above the other, for a deadly double blast.

One blink later, and Vincent rolled for cover into another vent. He hid his face away as the crazed shots lashed this shelter apart. Their loud zings deafened his ears. Davoren gave no room to breathe, let alone return fire.

Danger suddenly flashed clear across Vincent's mind: a suspicious movement rapidly approaching the corner. Indeed, on looking aside, Vincent was stunned blank to witness an arm swing out towards him,  
with one semi-automatic pointed ahead of bright pink eyes. They shone bloody murder.

It happened in a second. During this chaos, the clever gunman had snuck straight up to Vincent's shelter.

The fast reaction astounded one's comprehension, even Davoren's. With his hard claw, Vincent snagged the gunman's arm to divert the aim far up, just before several bullets rang loud. Now pinning the arm to the wall, Vincent then returned the surprise-attack tenfold. Every bullet hit Davoren point-blank. A brutal lead shower from head down to chest.

He didn't stop until the angry gunman managed to bare out his other semi-automatic. But Vincent reacted faster. He released the arm as he shoved it hard against Davoren, thus pushing him back for a split-moment;  
enough time to beat a hasty retreat.

A fresh hailstorm of bullets screamed vengeance after him. Their wild sparks flew all around. Yet Vincent somehow escaped into a side-vent, where the black path led him upwards. He scruffled up like a madman. Around more corners and through ducts..the nightmare simply had no end!

When he finally realized the gunshots had ceased, Vincent gasped to an unsteady halt. He slumped against the thick iron wall. After tearing open his collar, the ruined man thrust back his head to gulp precious air,  
squeezing each breath past his parched throat. His inflamed lungs wailed in pain. A dull headache pounded his brains.

That had been such a narrow escape, Vincent shuddered to remember it. His whole body ached from strain and injury. His long overcoat, alas, lay in miserable tatters, especially the hole-ridden hem.

Vincent was surprised to discover one entire shoulder soaked in hot blood.  
He gaped a moment at it, yet still could not feel any pain. No doubt, a stray bullet had grazed deep during that retreat. In his desperation, he never noticed.

Silence echoed through these hollow tunnels. Nothing stirred. He sat alone in darkness, listening to this unnatural tranquility while his senses gathered again.

"Comical little fellow...that punk-friend of yours, Vincent," suddenly came a cool, dry voice from nowhere.

Vincent tensed. He hadn't discerned the gunman sneak up here. Even now, he could not pin-point Davoren's location amidst this wretched maze. He seemed to surround him from every direction. Nevertheless, Vincent gripped his gun tight.

"A bit cocky, but he's quite good with that magic wand of his. Huh! Though Heaven help me if he'd been under my command."

Every sense was strained on high alert. Vincent anticipated an attack any second.

Nor did Davoren disappoint his expectations. Danger came from the left side, at the junction of two tunnels. Vincent caught a quick shadow flinch there, in which he immediately scurried away. A torrent of savage bullets pelted metal and pierced air after him.

Vincent swerved into a pipeline, slamming his bloody shoulder against the wall in the process. Down he scuffled, pursued close behind by fire and fury.

At last, he shoved himself aside into a vent. Safe there, Vincent thrust his gun around for hard retaliation. Both enemies exchanged a few bouts before breaking off again, neither side the victor.

"But it doesn't matter, my friend," he heard Davoren's gentle voice float by, softer than a ghost's "We'll still shed more blood..."

It erupted again. Vincent made an incredible dash out of his shelter for the vent across the tunnel, returning enemy gunfire all the way. He tumbled through, where he then crawled forward like a crazed maniac, well aware that Davoren had given pursuit.

The skirmish traveled further up the network until Vincent took a firm stand behind a side-vent. Only with full-scale fire frenzy did he shake Davoren off his tail. The gunman didn't retaliate, but instead took shelter inside a delivery pipe. Finally, when his gun clicked empty, Vincent pulled back.

Another battle he survived, would he be so lucky next time? Gasping against the sweat, Vincent reloaded his gun, then drew it up to his hot face. He tried hard to ignore the savage pain mauling his chest inside.

"..more blood...it's the only way to end this," whispered Davoren from his own shelter, now aroused to quiet insanity, "Can you hear them, Vincent? Can you hear Hell and all its fallen angels howl our names?"

Vincent's grip tightened on his gun as he listened to this derangement. The air reeked of malice, its source a sinister, murderous lunatic.

"I don't know why...heheh," raved the amused madman to no one, "..it's just a crazy passion I have..to shed more blood. The more people I hurt..and anger I cause, the stronger the desire.."

No reply; only a disgusted silence.

"Blood...smear it in my hands until they drip red... let the rotten smell fill my nostrils...and the sight burn me blind.."

His tone dropped to a gentle hush, so mysterious even Vincent was perplexed, "I only know I'm alive when I shed blood..it's the sight of it,  
Vincent...that's the only way..."

Insane. Davoren was a demon crazed by brutality. He lived to torture and destroy..fuel hatred...just throw himself whole into blood shed. Death around him meant life for himself.

This man...the very same who thirty-one years ago, had called human life "the most sacred gift from God".

Why, Davoren? Where does this sadistic passion stem from? It's a fountain that spouts cruelty all around, but what is the source?

Davoren...what happened to you?

Something new suddenly occurred to Vincent: never once had he asked himself that question before.

And when he recalled the gunman's rave just now, Vincent discovered something strange. Past the insanity and evil, there huddled an emotion, crushed and abandoned.

Vincent reached out to touch it. It almost felt like...utter despair...horrible, lonely pain...

Behind those empty pink eyes, what did the gunman hide?

Vincent violently shook off the reverie: time demanded another battle.

As if reading each other's moves, both enemies skid out of their shelters for a brutal confrontation, perhaps the last. The moment held them face to face. Their stern eyes locked hard upon each other, between them a bitter spark of hatred. All around, the invisible demonic crowd went wild.

And then, the moment released them. Each man took aim of the other to fire.

Yet God pounded down his divine fist of intervention: a furious rumble suddenly drowned the whole network. The frightened crowd dispersed. The battle stumbled to an instant halt, both enemies looking around in suspicious confusion. What meant that sound?

Long ago, Vincent had been assigned to storm a Reactor. As he recalled, they had strictly instructed him to sneak in via the ventilation system, not the delivery system; the latter contained a deadly program. It effectively eliminated any intruder or security breach within the pipeworks.

Vincent realized Reno had somehow activated the security program. Then himself and Davoren would be targeted as "intruders".

The advice "Get yourself outta there AS FAST AS POSSIBLE" rang clear through his mind.

He obeyed immediately. Vincent withdrew into a mad scurry, forgetting Davoren behind in desperate search for an exit. He scruffled upon all fours like a wild animal. All strength and concentration were exerted into escape.

The thunderous rumble shook the delivery system end to end. Soon, every ominous gauge along the wall blared the alarm. Iron doors systemically sealed off every vent and pipe, with the rumble still growing louder.

Vincent's speed reached frantic proportions until he finally discovered a grate. From peril to safety, he slipped through at once, just as the program triggered its final stage.

-End of Chp.64

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	62. Chapter 65

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.65 

This whole madness had lasted a mere ten seconds.

One ferocious explosion rocked clean through the delivery system; so powerful the shockwaves reached the walls and even floor below. It occurred directly above a huge open corridor, which in itself haughtily overlooked another hall down below.

Vincent landed safe here. At the same time, he witnessed a huge pipeline come crashing down in a fiery path, having just been blasted out of the network above. It tumbled madly across the hall, completely out of control,  
until it collided head-on into the wall. Such violent impact slammed a crater into the concrete as the pipe fractured open. Dust flew about.  
Finally, the overhead rumble trickled to total silence. It was over.

Vincent remained tiredly squatted upon one knee. From a short distance away, he beheld this brutal wreckage of metal scrap, wires, and stone. His crimson eyes, like the stern grip on his gun, waited in silent anticipation. They both awaited Davoren.

Short wait. Soon, the debris began to rattle against some movement trapped beneath, at first faint but growing stronger. At last, force won over weight. Davoren shoved off a heavy metal scrap, then angrily kicked aside another to free his crushed leg.

Out of the two, Vincent had been the luckier to escape that deathtrap in time. The security program had caught Davoren like a rat inside the pipe,  
then expulsed that pipe in hopes of killing him.

Or in this case, degrading his invincibility level further. As much discomfort as this alliance caused him, Vincent had to praise Reno again for devising such an effective blow.

Now would have been an excellent opportunity for another attack.  
Unfortunately, Vincent lacked the strength to stand, let alone engage in new battles, not with this wretched state and wounds. He needed a moment to breathe.

Nor seemed the battered gunman ready to resume combat either. Instead, he hunched over to press his temples amidst harsh gasps, perhaps even restore focus to his shattered senses. This insane war had finally started to take its toll on him.

A minute dragged by. The gunman recovered first. Shaking off the last bit of feebleness, he climbed back up to his feet, then staggered a few steps out of the metal wreckage. His thick white hair hung in dishevelment before his dark, sinister eyes.

There shone murder in that venomous glare. Vincent felt it drill into his core. He had ignited a deadly fire; for all the successful blows he'd scored, for all the times he'd resisted. Now Davoren would go beyond all-out to kill him.

Yet Vincent refused to be intimidated, even in face of such hostility. He too struggled up to his feet. He stood his ground tall and firm, with fingers tightly gripped around the gun.

Vincent didn't flinch as he watched Davoren tear off the remnants of his suit-jacket, then fling the tattered garment aside. He wore a double-holster harness, each one strapped along his shoulder. His collar was ripped open, and that scorched tie loose. The shirt, though torn and frumpled from endless combat, subtly revealed his fine-toned frame; there still remained ample power in that body.

Davoren only bothered to pull up his sleeves before taking both semi-automatics into his gloved hands. He then drew them close. His face expressed no emotion, as if chiseled from cold marble. Vincent, careful not to miss any movement, tensed in anticipation.

There was no need for words between these two men, for they both understood. Around them lingered silence. The calm before a storm.

They lunged in for each other like hunger-crazed wolves, eyes hard set on the enemy ahead. Vincent blasted rapid fire straight at the target, who unfortunately had already foreseen that attack. Without losing momentum,  
Davoren instantly sprung high over the gunfire. So high, with his back arched inwards, he almost seemed to fly towards the alarmed Vincent.

Graceful yet quite deadly. During the descent, Davoren suddenly unleashed a full-scale bombardment upon his enemy below, two guns at once. Vincent rolled aside. He narrowly evaded the wild hailstorm, then Davoren as he landed down, slamming his mighty foot into the floor instead of Vincent's head.

Another near-miss, but the gunman wasn't disheartened. Far from it, he made a headlong charge straight for Vincent, who alas couldn't recover in time to parry.

One slip up would be his doom. Vincent gasped a hideous grunt as the powerful blow rammed clean into his chest, almost shattering his breastbone with impact. Sensation was lost. Davoren, in fact, had used both butts of his weapons for the initiative strike. Next he hammered in a series of vicious blows, one into Vincent's injured side, and two others against his head. If he couldn't shoot him, then he'd certainly beat his brains out.

The unmerciful barrage hit hard and fast, without a chance to defend, not even breathe. Amidst such savagery, it was a miracle Vincent still kept upon both feet, even though every blow sent him staggering back in blind stupor. Pain battered sense. His sight went red: there was blood in his eyes; his own no doubt.

Davoren would have dealt another blow when he suddenly discerned a familiar presence attack from behind. At once, he parried aside with his arm uplifted, just as a disappointed nightstaff thrust straight through.  
Apparently, Reno had found his way to this battle too.

So as a welcome, Davoren gave this astonished young man just a taste of his ally's agony. He wheeled around sharply, thus slamming one gun right against Reno's head, then a brutal kick to send his spiraling back with a grunt.

Poor Reno, though stunned blind by such incredible strength and his own dismal failure, nevertheless managed to tumble onto one knee, but not fast enough to recover his dazed focus. Nor did Davoren wait: he opened double fire at full frenzy; he'd finish off this bothersome pest for good.

Reno blanked out. Undoubtedly, the mad torrent would have riddled him straight through had not something big and fast tackled him from the side,  
thereby sweeping his clear from danger. They both skid across until Reno sprawled onto his side, a bit shaken but alive. On looking up, he discovered a half-anxious, half-angry Rude squatted down, still holding him down for protection.

"What the Hell are YOU doing here!"Reno furiously demanded.

"Saving your stupid punk-ass, what else!" retorted Rude.

Not the most touching reunion, to be sure. Much vexed by this interference, Davoren moved in for another try when a harsh claw suddenly clamped his wrist tight. A loud "WHAT!" betrayed his disbelief. Indeed,  
Vincent, though battered and breathless, had used that brief distraction to flank the gunman's side; fast enough to catch him unawares.

Time for some serious retribution. Vincent quickly and ruthlessly twisted the whole arm around so as to force an opening in Davoren's side. There, he delivered his hardest blow, striking his gun at such an angle it snapped the gunman aside. Vincent then exerted all his might into one beautiful arm swing, which brought his gun like a ram directly into Davoren's face.  
Steel collided hard into bone.

The impressive impact sent the gunman tumbling back. However, he soon recovered enough balance to flip over again, where he crouched down like an untame animal, both guns still in hand.

An untame animal, indeed. Savage anger raged bright across those pink eyes. His grit teeth were bared as hard gasps fumed their way through.  
Davoren's muscles bristled with keen hatred. They could fight on forever,  
yet neither man it seemed would ever overpower the other!

Endurance definitely would choose Vincent to embody it. He stood slouched up right before Davoren's hateful sight. A thousand aches and pains,  
bruises and wounds plagued his body. Exhaustion and dizziness burdened his shoulders. Yet he bore the ordeal with an unnaturally stoic face.

Such coolness struck a sharp contrast to his miserable, tattered appearance. He had lost all sensation of his chest. His claw clutched his injured side, already soaked red from the treacherous wound. Every desperate breath wrangled his soul more, with this murderous pain leading a carnage through his torn lungs.

Blood was everywhere, hot and moist. It clogged his throat. It seeped through his wounds, sometimes dripped onto the floor. A thick red color smeared along his pallid face. It added such deadliness to his crimson gaze.

Amazing he hadn't collapsed yet. Even standing itself seemed to require effort. But Vincent returned Davoren's glower with icy sternness. He would suffer an eternity, if in the end it meant retrieving her back into his arms. That determination kept him firm upon both feet.

Just a few more minutes, he repeated to himself, just a few more...

They should have resumed battle, for neither man would surrender to the other. However, Vincent was perplexed when he instead noted Davoren's whole face darken from rage to fearful dread. His pink eyes tensed, as if he'd just detected something he loathed most to see. Davoren slowly turned his anxious attention to the side. Similarly, Vincent and the two ex-Turks looked in that direction.

Rufus stood but a short distance away, staring wide at the ruined gunman, and no one else. For the first time since this war began, they looked each other straight in the eye. Deep blue fastened upon fiery pink.

Absolute silence chilled the heart. Time itself froze to watch this scene. In truth, nobody knew where Rufus had appeared from, or how much he had seen. But it was clear this sight shook him to the very core.

His blank face reflected the stunned state of his mind. He stood in plain view, unafraid, with both hands loose by his sides. His eyes shone many emotions floundering in an inner storm. There was terrible confusion. Tension. Anxiety. And so much horror, not from the gunman himself, but what this scene meant.

Strange enough, Davoren remained locked in place more rigid than a statue. His gaze absorbed all those emotions, perhaps more than he cared for, yet failed to flinch any reaction. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the boy's, even though it aroused such a fierce turmoil inside.

So fierce, in fact, it suddenly sparked Davoren to intense, red-hot rage. He broke away from those eyes by force. Whatever the reason, Rufus' presence here provoked him to violence; a violence which erupted into instant action.

All his anger targeted Vincent again, whereby he bellowed some wordless battle-cry. The gunman charged forth at a phenomenal speed. Vincent barely managed to block as this madman tackled him head-on, thus sending them both tumbling over the balustrade. During the plummet downwards, Vincent forcefully wrenched himself free, just in time to land on the hall floor,  
then dash away. Davoren flipped feet-first onto the ground, and pursued at once.

Rufus rushed up to the balustrade. From his place above, he caught sight of the two enemies disappear into the labyrinthine corridors below. His gaze strained to an intense gleam, fraught by horrible premonitions and confusion. If one were allowed just a glimpse into this boy's mind, it would be impossible to unravel his flustered thoughts from an entanglement of memories.

That man...whose eyes betrayed a dangerous killer inside, whose aura emanated such menace...was that Davoren? No. It couldn't be. Blood and battle had transformed him into something savage and so ugly.

Or was this the truth? The truth he had been told about, the truth Davoren had simply concealed from his view.

Rufus' anxious thoughts ran clear: he couldn't understand the gunman. But there was something hideously wrong in what he had just witnessed. There was something wrong with the Davoren he had just seen. This madness must cease...somehow...right now!

A mad buzz swarmed about Reno's head. Rude held him up by the shoulders while he sat hunched over, still struggling to sort his entangled senses. Hot blood streamed down his face. It seeped from a large gash along one side of his forehead. No mistake, Davoren had dealt his a severe blow.

"Reno! Hey Reno! Get a hold on yourself!" cried Rude, fearful the man may faint any minute.

"Argh..s-shit..," he forcefully shook off this giddiness, then glared straight at his friend, "I thought we agreed you'd take the kid 'n hide somewhere safe!"

"I did! We hid HERE till you guys came crashing through... which is something you should be very thankful for!"

"That ain't important now!" declared the exasperated Reno, "Take Rufus 'n get outta here quick! Before things get crazier!"

Rude had to postpone his rebuke for later, in which he nodded in agreement. However, on turning around, both men were astonished to discover the boy had vanished. Their eyes searched around in confusion, then apprehension. Not a trace. Rufus had been standing there just moments ago. Where could he possibly have...

Suddenly, both men looked at each other in wild alarm, having grasped the answer at the same time.

"THAT CRAZY IDIOT!" snarled Reno. All injuries and feebleness were instantly forgotten as he scrambled onto his feet, then darted away at top speed. He headed for the battle-grounds below.

No Hell could match this wild war-zone. An inferno of corners and corridors, which through this insanity zipped by as a grey haze, full of sinister shadows and shapes. Here two demons fought their final battle. Victory meant the enemy's life, failure meant gruesome death. There were no restraints or logic here. Bullets blasted about indiscriminately. Two black figures chased each other in a frenzy for blood. Wherever they stormed through, chaos and destruction followed.

To stay alive, Vincent had to keep both speed and sense alive. Despite his ruined condition and howling lungs, he fought at such a frantic pace, oblivious of everything save this war. It wasn't a battle of wits and tactics anymore, but sheer survival. Indeed, Davoren was down to his last few minutes.

His tight grip choked the gun. He couldn't hear anything except the crazy cross-fire. Sometimes, he almost shot the gunman. Other times, Davoren almost ambushed him. They swirled around deeper and deeper in these senseless circles. It never ceased. They had simply drifted far beyond control.

Yet Vincent had to wonder back on that scene just now, when the boy and gunman had met. The unexpected encounter had only lasted a moment, then dissolved to violence again. But in between those two events, Vincent had noticed (quite keenly) how profound the effect had been on Davoren. He could understand Rufus' shock, but the gunman's?

Why hadn't he shot the boy on sight? Rufus had stood there wide open and unarmed. All it would have required was one bullet. Instead, he had taken the battle down here.

Almost as if he wanted to escape.

Escape what? The boy, or his own turmoil? Davoren had only shown Rufus one mask. Was he..angry...even afraid now that the boy had clearly seen the other one?

Vincent's expression darkened further. The more layers he peeled through, the more perplexities he uncovered. Memories floated by. He remembered the moment he shot Davoren, so vivid he could still see the man lying dead in a pool of blood. He remembered their first encounter thirty-one long years later. How much he had changed! Vincent recalled that brief time in the park, when he caught pain..real anguish.. flicker across those pink eyes. He recalled the gunman's rave, especially his bizarre tone while he obsessed about blood shed...he said the sight kept him "alive".

What did it all mean? Davoren...what happened to you?

He had twisted himself into an enigma no one would dare approach, let alone solve. He was locked behind a door, and had discarded the key into the grey mists of oblivion.

Despite this thick fog, Vincent still ventured in. He searched around when he accidentally groped something so small. It slowly took shape in between his fingers...slowly as he sought revelation from its touch.

All thoughts suddenly dispersed as Vincent perceived danger up ahead. At the very end of this long hallway, Davoren himself skid out into full view, having now intercepted the enemy's path. Without hesitation, he made a headlong dash straight for Vincent, both semi-automatics bared out. Nor did Vincent stop. He darted forth, drawing out his own gun. They ran on a collision course towards each other, each man at top speed.

There was an edge to Davoren's movements, ruthless and cuttingly brutal, even more than before. His eyes flashed brilliant pink; the glare of a madman.

A dark demon drove Vincent forward. Its crimson eyes glowed through his own, brighter than blood set on fire. He ran at full charge.

In the end, however, it came down to a simple ratio: two guns to one.

Vincent took aim to fire, when much to his astonishment, Davoren hurtled one semi-automatic right at him. The weapon spun wildly until it struck Vincent's wrist, so hard it knocked his own gun clean out of his grip.

It all lasted a blink. Before Vincent even realized he had been disarmed, the insane gunman was right infront of him, still charging forth. Davoren's follow-up came swift: he sprung towards the enemy, at the same time slamming one knee hard into Vincent face. Perfect form, full-impact, no mercy.

It felt as though a concrete ram had collided into his senses, easily sending his flying back in a whirl of painful numbness. Vincent tumbled backwards, over and over, until he crashed back-first into the wall, then slumped down to the ground.

Raw sensations tingled his consciousness amidst a buzz of noises. A blurry haze clouded his eyesight. The mighty blow, in fact, had knocked him back to the end of the hall.

He now saw Davoren still lunge towards him. He saw the other semi-automatic flash at him. Yet awareness and action lingered far apart. In his feebleness, Vincent could not move.

"Hell awaits you, Mr.Valentine!" bellowed Davoren in a victorious frenzy, "Now DIE!"

In rushed frantic footsteps to intercept right between the two foes. With arms spread wide out, Rufus suddenly flung himself fully in the line of fire, shouting, "DAVOREN STOP!"

Eyes widened from shock.But by then,it was already too late.

One bullet rang out.

-End of Chp.65

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	63. Chapter 66

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.66 

The bullet hears no plea once the trigger has been pulled. It shattered clean through Rufus' desperate cry, straight for his life...his life which stood bare for the taking.

That is, had not the astonished gunman reacted first.

Such speed, such reaction indeed defied belief. By miracle, Davoren barely managed to tilt his aim aside, just before that one bullet rang out. Rufus was whiffed a step back as it zinged right past his face, so close it snatched a lock of hair.

Davoren was still at full charge. Yet rather than collide into the boy, he forcefully skid himself to a halt, using one foot as the emergency brake. The violent friction trailed dust behind until he came to a complete stop, just one step infront of Rufus, and a hair-width from disaster.

With him, the entire war crumbled to a confused halt. Time itself lingered upon this moment to capture every detail. A heavy silence trickled in, so contrary to the previous chaos, one could feel his own heartbeat pound aloud.

Between them the minute lasted an infinity. Stormy ocean blue searched the brilliant pink. Through these lies and false pretenses, past the confusion, just search.

Rufus stood his ground shivering and breathless. Though bewildered by his own miraculous survival, he still held out both arm weakly to block Davoren's way, as if that alone would somehow stop this madness. The turmoil inside showed its intensity on his face, every fine feature stressed to tense sharpness.

He had cried for Davoren to stop, and (surprisingly) Davoren stopped. Now, poor Rufus could only gape at the gunman, and await whatever may follow next. It seemed he hadn't planned anything beyond stopping the madman.

Vincent had not expected this boy to interfere, much less to see him still alive afterwards. Nevertheless, he owed him his life. This precious pause had been enough to gather his scattered senses again, at least disperse this buzzing daze from his consciousness.

Thrashed and battered bloody, Vincent sat hunched over with face buried in hand. The boy stood right infront of him. However, Vincent soon peered through his fingers, where his keener observation wandered over to the gunman.

If Rufus were breathless, then Davoren was gasping from perturbation. No physical blow, no matter how brutal, had in as much effected him as this second encounter. Nor had such a fatal near-miss ever paled his face to such stark anxiety. Beads of sweat rolled down. Vincent noted how harsh sounded Davoren's breaths, like wind rasping through tight chest muscles.  
His pink eyes stared wide into the boy's. His tattered appearance, with his white hair in such dangling disorder, accentuated the wildness of that gaze.

Vincent's expression darkened in contemplation. Very slowly, he climbed up to his feet again, leaning himself against the wall for support.

The tension became increasingly palpable. Neither enemy stirred, but beheld this boy.

That bullet should have killed Rufus point-blank. There was no way he could have survived unless Davoren had so quickly diverted his aim. He knew it. Vincent knew it. And when calmed again, Rufus would realize it too.

Hadn't the Professor ordered him to kill Rufus too? Then why divert fire...why stop when he could have just blasted his way through? It was such an easy target. Yet twice already, Davoren had shunned both opportunities.

Instead, there he stood at an utter loss, unable to even brush aside a mere boy; a boy who for all his bravery could only hold out his two scrawny arms as an obstacle.

Even Davoren himself seemed unable to explain himself, which bemused him all the more.

A mad rush of footsteps suddenly shattered the moment. Awash with aggravation, Reno stormed onto the scene from behind. On spotting Rufus right infront of the gunman, he instantly cried out, "Ah! Kid! Get away from him!"

Too late.

Already Davoren had snapped from stupor back to a brutality even more ruthless than before. Rufus grunted a cry as Davoren savagely grabbed him by the hair, then slammed him up against the wall, at the same time pressing the gun into his throat. The boy froze at once.

Stark alarm seized both men. Vincent took a step forward, but instantly thought better. The enraged Reno skid to a quick halt. He impetuously flipped out his charged weapon for an attack.

"Back away, or I'll blast his throat open," ordered the gunman icily. His eyes darted between Vincent and Reno as he drew closer upon the hostage.

From that maniacal glare, both men knew there was a real chance he may follow his threat. Vincent stood still. Reno stiffened, torn between his refusal to obey and gambling the boy's life. His fingers still itched for an attack. Perhaps he could lunge in fast before..

"Don't try it, punk!" roared Davoren against such dangerous thoughts. He shoved the whole muzzle further into poor Rufus' throat, almost choking him, "Just back away NOW!"

No use. If this shrewd man could read their minds, then he could definitely anticipate their moves. Reno wouldn't take the risk. So, he resentfully dropped his stance, and backed two steps away. The disappointed nightstaff hung dead by his side.

Davoren had won the upper hand thanks to luck and quick wit. Now he held both allies at a safe distance. Neither man would dare attack. And even if Vincent did, Reno would not, not with Rufus as hostage; they had to act together. In other words, this alliance was strained in the middle.

Triumph tickled Davoren. His lips curled into a grin, "Heh..heheh...my! What a delightful predicament THIS is...little Rufus ShinRa at gunpoint" he peered over to Reno, "Yes..you'd be pretty upset if I killed him, hmm?"

Reno boiled with rage. Through grit teeth, he growled restrainedly, "I swear...you harm that kid, and I..."

In truth, Reno knew not what he could do against such a devil. He trailed into a hateful silence, which only amused Davoren more.

Vincent, on the other hand, showed an unnaturally stoic front. Behind those crimson eyes he pondered the situation at hand. Instinctively, he searched for his forsaken gun. It was spotted some distance away on the floor; too far to make a dive for it. And he certainly daren't challenge the gunman bare-handed.

Vincent's keen scrutiny returned to the scene. He noted one detail which particularly struck his interest: Davoren's hands were trembling. Just a slight tremor. But it seemed no evil smile could fully conceal the hot storm within.

Deeper sunk Vincent's thoughts upon this enigma.

Soon, Davoren's delight cooled down. He still held the boy up against the wall, having yanked his head so far back to expose his throat. There, the cold muzzle pressed into his skin for all to see.

Rufus never flinched any resistance, nor could he even swallow past the muzzle. His eyes twitched anxiously just to stay shut. He seemed to expect that bullet any second.

Everyone, in fact, seemed to expect it in this long moment of agony. However, Davoren suddenly released the boy. He took one step back, not to spare him; the gun still remained fixed on Rufus' face, but rather to behold him in his helplessness.

The boy hesitantly re-opened his eyes. No one could guess what raced through his mind: fear? Anger? Feelings of betrayal? After another moment, Rufus steadied himself upon his feet again. He stood at gunpoint, attention focused beyond the muzzle upon a bright gaze of murderous derangement.

Blue met pink again. Everything else receded to oblivion.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Rufus. There was no trace of anger or fear in his bearing, only quiet sadness.

"It's the Professor's orders, boy," conceded the gunman unaffectedly, "I am to kill everyone here. You've outlived your usefulness, and so, you too must die."

Rufus could not reply.

"You should have stayed safe in hiding. Tell me, what did you hope to achieve by coming here?"

The boy's resolution wavered a bit against the direct question. He fumbled to put his muddlement into words, "..something..very wrong has happened to you, Davoren..so wrong it shakes me inside just to look at you now. This..," Rufus gestured all around the battered battleground, "..all of this has changed you into something I know is wrong!"

"And?" Davoren cut short, "You came here to stop me?"

Such cold words, mocking him to the core. Again, the boy struggled to reply, "I came here...because I..I.."

"You came here because you were afraid of what you saw back there. You wanted your stupid caretaker back, not this. You came here because you are a fool!"

Rufus blinked at the blunt insult.

"Has it ever occurred to you, boy, that maybe the only reason I've taken care of you...is because the Professor ordered me?"

Apparently not, as the boy stood lost amidst a whirl of consternation, more intimidated by Davoren's eyes than his gun.

Yes. Vincent recalled Rufus fiercely refute that idea: that Davoren couldn't be the "friend" he valued, but just a hollow machine who served Hojo. Davoren was the sole source of kindness and warmth this lunatic possessed. Yet how sharply this situation contrasted against the boy's stories.

Both were true, but which the reality?

The gunman beamed into a sneer as he beheld Rufus' visible anxiety, "Oh yes. Us Turks..we're a special type of monsters. We're bred to swallow ANY order, and obey...the perfect type the likes YOU and your father want."

"..me..and my father..?" echoed the boy in amazement.

"You and your father."

He slightly tilted his head aside. Through loose hair strands, his eyes blazed pink madness, "I served your illustrious father thirty-one years ago. And I've heard plenty about you, Rufus ShinRa. Like father, like son.  
You live in your wonderful play-house society high above, surrounded by wealth, toys and pretty faces. It's glamour for show, but dirty hands beneath the tables. Me, Vincent, your friend over there...WE are your dirty hands."

Whatever Rufus understood from this half-demented rave profoundly disturbed him. From their places, both allies listened in anticipation. It took Reno every effort to restrain his rage. However, Vincent found much interest in listening.

"Why sure!" declared the madman all around, "Anything you order, we obey! We sully ourselves in people's blood and tears, so that bastards like you stay clean and innocent."

"I...don't remember," mumbled Rufus weakly.

"And what a convenient little excuse THAT is!"

Such a sudden outburst startled Rufus to look up again. All traces of amusement had vanished from Davoren's face, replaced by hot anger furrowed deep. His pink eyes glowered behind a rigid gun, both fixated upon him alone.

"If we are all guilty here, then you're probably the guiltiest one out of us. If God does care for justice or retribution, then you DESERVE to have fallen, Mr. New-Age President Rufus ShinRa," Davoren spat out the title through venomous sarcasm, "..a huge Hellfire to cast you from your throne down to the mud...down with the rest of us! Our crimes are your crimes.  
Your hands are dirty too, and you just answer 'I don't remember'. PAH!"

It wasn't the gunman accusing. It was an endless storm of voices, all blustered by hatred. The era had died, but their misery still remained.  
They still charged their wrongdoers with crimes, still cursed their existence. And now Rufus knew he received a fair share too. It did not matter whether he remembered or "conveniently" forgot. Just like Davoren, it only made the voices angrier.

Vincent couldn't argue with Davoren, however harshly he may have spoken. The old ShinRa jackal had molded a new one. There stood the product: a power-hungry, arrogant and utterly merciless monster. Around him stood his "dirty hands": demons who'd dress in suits. They'd stalk the inky night in his service. No fire could ever cleanse Rufus. He was like them, forever damned by crimes.

The boy almost seemed able to hear those accusing voices inside his mind. He struggled to understand this hideous truth until his head hung low.

"..somehow..I already knew that, Davoren," admitted the boy dejectedly, "When the fire burned me...when the pain ripped me up, and the guards beat me...I somehow knew I deserved it all. I deserve to be punished, even though I couldn't remember why."

The gun remained pointed. Davoren said nothing. Another struggle spiraled up Rufus as both fists tightened. He looked directly into the gunman's eyes, angry desperation strained upon his own face.

"That nightmare..me trapped in there..with..with that man always following me..it was real! All of it!" he cried straight out, "But if that's how I really was, and you felt so angry...why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you tell me of my past!"

But Davoren instantly snapped against the outburst with triple the rage, unable to tolerate another word. He grabbed the stunned Rufus by the throat, then yanked him up right under his pink, icy glare. Needless to say, Reno started in alarm, while Vincent tensed.

"Tell you, boy?" growled Davoren, "Why? Weren't you already miserable enough, living your life in shambles? Even a DOG lives a better life than yours!"

His stern voice drilled into Rufus. The boy struggled for air as the grip squeezed further upon his windpipe. Pain strained his eyes shut.

"That infernal scanner tears your brain apart. The guards beat you day-in, day-out, then stuff your system full of drugs. You always rave in fear, about 'fires' and some 'man' who chases you. All of that and you still wanted me to tell you!"

He broke all restraints upon a brash fury, rattling the boy once just for emphasis, "Tell you once used to be the most powerful, richest figure on the Planet? Look at you then, look at you now! Tell you, Rufus? Why? To make you MORE MISERABLE!"

"So..that's..w-what you were trying to..do..," wheezed the boy in a cracked whisper.

Davoren only raised one quizzical eyebrow.

"Whenever the nightmare..crawled up on me..you beat it away, and tried so hard to cheer me up again-ugh!" Rufus barely managed to open one bleary eye, "All this time ..y..you were trying to..hide me from punishment."

The interpretation, so plainly presented, caught Davoren off guard for a moment. He simply stared back at a total loss, looking into that eye which struggled to stay focused. Soon however, his face darkened again to a deep frown.

Davoren could have crushed Rufus' throat. It was that easy. But instead, e contemptuously flung the boy back, who at once hacked a violent gasp of relief, then hunched over against the wall in dizzy pain. The gunman beheld him in cold silence.

"Argh! You damn bastard!" bellowed Reno for vengeance, preparing to lunge in. However, he stopped dead when Davoren aimed his gun again at the hostage, this time with rigid fixation. A silent warning that any wrong move would be fatal.

Though fuming red with anger, Reno returned to a helpless spectator. He gripped his staff very tightly, one thought he'd snap it in two. What would he give to snap Davoren's neck instead.

Unlike his hot-tempered ally, Vincent remained cool in place. Inside his keen mind, he churned a dozen thoughts while observing Davoren, especially after Rufus had momentarily disarmed him with those words. Each thought was an irregular fragment of an enigmatic face. If he unlocked the door, and pieced the puzzle together, he knew he'd find the true face behind there.

He knew because he had finally found the key.

The ruthless gunman stood unbothered by the surroundings. Instead, with chin turned up, he callously viewed the hostage from behind a fixed gun. Tere was no pity in his eyes, just cruel mockery.

"My dear boy," he patronized, "that explosion has degraded you to a ragged, frightened lunatic. You haven't even sense enough to survive anymore. You NEEDED someone to take care of you. When you were starving, I had to feed you. When you were shivering naked and hallucinating, I had to clothe and calm you down again."

Rufus listened with head bowed low. Loose hair strands fell between his fingers, adding such wretchedness to his beggarly appearance.

"That's how pathetic you are now, Rufus ShinRa. You need to rely on a stranger to keep you alive!"

The boy still did not stir.

Reno seethed on the verge of another interference when something else caught his attention. At the end of the corridor, Rude hid behind the dark corner, having snuck here undetected. He stood perfectly still. His stern brown eyes fought nervousness to transfer a message over to Reno.

This message contained a simple bargain. It was their final hope.

Reno's expression turned quite solemn, whereby he glanced to Vincent. Vncent understood at once, then flicked his sight back to the unwary gunman. All this time Davoren spoke, a secret plan brewed about. He was too occupied with Rufus.

"Take a good look!" he snarled in a passion, "This man you see right now...ugly, tattered and demented...this is what I really am! I am the Professor's slave! I live to obey his orders! He ordered me to keep you alive, I obeyed. He ordered me to kill you, I will obey!"

"And when you brought me those rice-cakes, were you obeying the Professor too?" retorted Rufus firmly, removing his hand to reveal a calm face. He returned none of Davoren's malice or bitterness.

It was a question only these two understood.

The gun did not waver off its mark. Davoren gazed back in a long, pensive silence. Slowly, a gentle smile crossed his lips, giving his face such unnatural warmth.

"Don't give me that look, Rufus," he begged rather playfully, "Heh. I wouldn't know whether I should kill you...or just adopt you."

They'd never find the answer. Before Davoren could decide, the now three allies lunged into sudden action.

The scene plunged into instant madness, fast-paced without pause. Vincent dived straight in at Rufus for a swift tackle. His hard claw secured the boy as they tumbled over across the floor, where Vincent snatched his own discarded gun, then recovered onto his feet. All strength converted to speed. Grabbing the bewildered boy even more tightly, Vincent fled at once.

Davoren couldn't react amongst three simultaneous events. Just as Rufus was rescued, Rude swung out of his hide-out, forcefully wrenching open a gasket in the process. Loud, icy steam instantly choked the hall to the brim; the perfect smoke screen.

Sight went foggy, but not before Reno hurtled two mega-charged fire missiles at the vital support girders above. Both fireballs blasted their targets dead on. Soon, the walls groaned under the mammoth weight of the now unsupported delivery system. The groan escalated to a thunderous rumble as the whole ceiling stormed to a collapse, dragging down the system as well.

The demolition zone spread outwards, swallowing everything into darkness.

Vincent never once glanced back. He flew beyond the limit, holding onto the boy through this chaos. Behind pursued a tidal wave of destruction.It's insane roar deafened his ears to numbness. The ground shook angrier than an earthquake. Yet both feet carried him forth regardless. They sought escape.

Down the maze he ran in a race against time, faster and faster, until deliverance shone up ahead. He boosted himself to a final dash forward,barely clearing the premises as it all caved in behind.

The violence swept both men far across the floor, neither one able to co-ordinate any balance amidst such madness. By sheer determination,Vincent recovered his focus. He huddled over Rufus as a spume of fiery rubble and dust rained Hell upon them.

Reno and Rude had struck an unspoken deal with Vincent: he was the fastest. If he would save the boy, then they would "handle" Davoren. With their eyes they had sealed the pact, and together went into action.

Now, Rufus was safe; Vincent battered from battle but well alive; the two ex-Turks and Davoren missing, with the battlegrounds in ruins.

-End of Chp.66

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	64. Chapter 67

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.67 

Vincent did not stir until the mad rumble in his ears subdued, whereby he then lifted his head for a peak. At first, dust hampered his vision. Yet as it gradually dispersed, Vincent's senses sharpened to a fine focus again.He instantly recalled the present situation.

The Delivery System had collapsed. Luckily, they had escaped in time,where the violence had swept them half-way down an open bridge, clear out of danger. Here he lay upon the dirty floor, with the boy huddled safe beneath him. Around them loomed a silence eerie enough to chill any heart.

Out of caution, Vincent waited another moment. When nothing emerged, he finally pushed his weary body up to its knees, wincing against severe muscle strain. Rubble and dust tumbled off his sore back. His long black hair dangled in dishevelment.

Inside, fever boiled his ruined chest. Nevertheless, he helped the boy sit up. Rufus struggled weakly amidst a daze of confusion. Vincent even had to steady him by the shoulders. A quick check soon assured the boy had sustained no injuries (Vincent had made sure of that). The chaos had just shaken him a bit.

However, Rufus sprang to full alarm when he suddenly remembered,"Reno..and Rude!..Davoren! What..w-where are..?"

Such anxiety searched all around in blind desperation. At a loss, Rufus turned to Vincent for answers. But the aloof man only stood up. He left the boy to resolve his own turmoil.

His back ached miserably, more so as he limped a few steps ahead. From a distance, Vincent beheld the ruins in long thoughtfulness. Rufus remained slouched upon the floor. He gaped beyond Vincent, at the devastation up infront. His face paled.

In a disastrous chain of events, the first cave-in had brought the upper levels to a secondary collapse, causing a massive landslide as the centre stormed down. In fact, it now stood as a steep hillside of garbage and rubble. Corridors were crushed beneath unsupported ceilings. Pipelines were torn out.

Both men viewed this wreckage, Vincent without any visible emotion, Rufus with rising consternation. There were mangled steel and jagged brick. Pipes and girders protruding out like gravestones throughout.

Devastation spared nothing. it all sloped downwards, some debris even spilled upon the bridge. No body could have survived such destruction.Indeed, just the thought of getting buried thus made one's blood curdle.

They had been quite fortunate to escape alive out into the open. This bridge, a rather sturdy, wide structure, extended across. Smaller bridges intercepted its path at right angles. Far down stretched a black abyss, so deep it seemed bottomless, like a tunnelway to oblivion.

For a long time, Vincent's cool gaze lingered upon the mountainous debris infront, musing his thoughts amidst a grave suspicion. The still air cautioned him not to lower his guard just yet.

Yes. The two ex-Turks certainly deserved praise for their bravery, if not at least admiration for their steadfast loyalty to Rufus. In exchange for his safety, they had scored an impressive blow against Davoren, maybe enough to kill him.

But there showed no sign of them anywhere. Perhaps they too had perished,  
perhaps they had managed to escape. Vincent hoped the latter. as much as he begrudged it, both men, especially that loutish Reno, had proven worthy allies.

Vincent could discern the boy's heart sink. No doubt, Davoren would flood his memory, already causing him much trouble and anxiety. He would realize what both ex-Turks had bargained for with Vincent: his life for this attack.

And now where lay everything? Beneath the rubble. He could not rejoice in losing Davoren or his other two friends. Instead of stopping this madness,the madness had almost swallowed him.

It's a war that tears him between opposite sides, mused Vincent gloomily.

Silence and all thoughts dispersed when a loud clamor suddenly resounded out. It emanated from above, somewhere behind the debris. Vincent automatically gripped his gun in stern anticipation. The bewildered Rufus scrambled up to his feet. The clamor resounded again, this time with double anger.

There was a survivor after all, but who?

The third clamor answered that question. From their position below, they witnessed a mighty foot kick its way to freedom amidst an entanglement of bar and stone. Soon, a battered figure crawled out. Through chaotic white hair, Davoren's eyes glared fiery pink.

It only took him a moment to skid down the jagged hillside. There he stood for all to behold; a devil just arisen from the depths of Hell.

Somehow, Vincent was not surprised, nor did his expression waver off its cold stoicism.

"You still intend to fight?" he asked dryly.

"It will never finish...until either one of us dies..," the gunman growled. He staggered against sharp dizziness, but immediately steadied himself again, enough to pull out his own gun, "I have my orders to obey...y-you..have your vow to keep."

Saying that, he took direct aim of Vincent, and waited. Vincent did not respond.

True. As long as both men lived, one would always thwart the other.Davoren would not defy Hojo's orders, even at the cost of his own life.Vincent would never abandon Aeris, not while that vow burned hot upon his heart.

Another clash was imminent. The two bitter foes stood their distance far apart. Between them sparked heated hostility, yet still Vincent would not draw his gun.

Instead, he measured up this man with calmness, so contrary to Davoren's harsh glare. The man wanted to finish this tedious business in a final shoot-out. Just his gun against Vincent's; to the victor goes the spoils (or the enemy's life).

Inside seethed rage, but outside both exhaustion and weakness plagued Davoren's body. It obviously took him much effort to maintain balance, more to steady his shaky aim. His dirty, tattered clothes and haggard eyes all gave him the appearance of a wild animal.

Vincent himself had suffered grievous injuries, from his bleeding side to a battered head. But by comparison, the war had taken its greater toll on Davoren. The alliance had dealt him so many blows, reaching its climax with that massive collapse. Whatever remained of his invincibility level, he had used to crawl out alive. Now, it was almost depleted.

Vincent's face hardened: most likely, he could kill Davoren first. He gripped his own gun more tightly; no backing out now.

But before the tension swelled any further, Rufus, hitherto forgotten,bravely intervened upon the scene. From askance, Vincent watched the young man stand out in plain view. His eyes, like a calm blue ocean, gazed upon Davoren, unafraid of his appearance or the muzzle.

"Davoren, please stop this," he spoke gently.

Such placidity, however, only redoubled the gunman's irritation. He vehemently hissed back, "Spare me the melodrama, boy. Get out of my way."

The weapon remained fixed. Nevertheless, Rufus insisted with the same patient softness, "Davoren, you can't fight anymore."

Vincent stood aloof, continuously darting his keen eyes between these two without any interruption. He let the boy speak.

Davoren had revealed his brutal side to the boy. He had vented out such intense emotions, from hatred to violence. But still, Rufus persisted. As he simply expressed, something was "wrong"; something he foresaw would end with Davoren in a bloodbath.

"And..so what if I die, Rufus?" smiled Davoren humorlessly. His voice trailed far into hushed bitterness, "I don't care. Maybe because living...just breathing..has become a burden.."

Light and darkness, life and death had long became an equivalence to those empty pink eyes. They glared behind a loaded weapon straight at Rufus,nettled inside by such a tempest.

As he gazed back, boy sunk into gradual sadness. He quietly answered,  
"It's a burden...if you live it all alone, or live it behind a face you yourself hate but cannot discard. But I'd think..if there was one person who truly cared about you, isn't that reason enough to live?"

The argument, though so childlike in its simplicity, struck the gunman at the most sensitive chord. His aim wavered slightly. For a moment, he lost the struggle against an uprising of intense mental anguish.

A certain irony marked the scene; the lunatic now trying to reason with Davoren. Vincent found it uncanny. While Rufus spoke, he seemed to delve deep into himself, and with plain words somehow extract Davoren's core.

Yet that was a secret place, and one was allowed there. Davoren suddenly shook his head, casting off all emotion except red-hot rage, all words except murder. He fixed his aim again.

"I don't want to see your face!" he roared venomously at Rufus, "Just get out of my way, dammit!"

Rufus would have tried a second plea. Alas, the winds blew against him.Davoren refused to stop, and Vincent had only granted him one chance to speak. Indeed, Rufus gave a violent start as Vincent now brushed past him,prepping his gun for a bloody finale.

"Ah! No! W-wait!" he begged. In desperation, the boy grabbed Vincent's claw to thwart his advance.

Just like a child trying to protect its parent from Death. But all in vain. Vincent ruthlessly flung the anxious boy behind: time to end this madness for good.

"You've already defeated him!" Rufus cried aloud, "Must you kill him too!"

Vincent did not listen. Taking a firm stand upfront, he stretched out his arm, and immediately opened full fire at Davoren.

The brutal lead shower pelted the gunman backwards. One bullet after another, every bang louder than the first. Davoren never retaliated;perhaps he couldn't, or maybe he just didn't try.

Vincent paused a split-moment upon his seventh bullet, if only to note Davoren's disorientated state, then fired the eighth. At the other side,Davoren grunted sharply as the gunshot grazed clean through his arm,sending him stumbling back against a spout of bright blood. Yet he refused to fall. Instead, he clutched his wounded arm, and wrestled the dizziness outright to stay standing.

It was over. The barrier had finally shattered.

Again, Vincent paused but did not lower his gun. Rufus stood rooted behind, overwhelmed by speechless horror, and his inability to act.

Pain crumpled Davoren's pallid face as each gasp ravaged his interior more. Yet at the same time, such raw, physical agony fascinated him, like a sensation long forgotten but now fully realized. He glanced into his palm.It was smeared red. Already, the blood trickled down his dangling arm until his grip on the gun became sticky-wet. It even dripped down onto the floor.

Somehow, Davoren found the sight too funny. What started as a crooked smile developed into a deranged chuckle. He declared to Vincent,"S-Saint's alive! I haven't seen my own blood in ages!"

Vincent stared back unamused, nor could Rufus force out his voice through his clogged throat. Soon, the gunman's laughter crumbled to such a coarse cough, one wondered how he still stood. He was deteriorating fast.

"I suppose...you'll have to finish me off quickly, Vincent.." wheezed the sly gunman, "You want to reach your little girl before he does.."

Yes, before Hojo drags her away to eternal darkness. He is finished. Kill him now.

"Ugh!...t-though..I'm sure..you'd rather get some satisfaction out of watching me die..," Davoren teased through a hard-grit sneer. He fed his amusement on Vincent's thoughts, "..watch the life pour out of me..s..slowly and painfully, eh?"

Hurry. Hurry and kill him! Just pull the trigger once and it will end.

It will end. It must end. He can't fight anymore. He can't even hold up his own gun. For all the trouble he's caused you, from the day he first appeared to this moment, kill him. Cast this demon into the black, murky past...another dead corpse in a pool of blood.

Kill him, Vincent. Isn't that what you want?

"No," refused Vincent calmly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. He lowered his gun.

Neither Rufus nor Davoren had expected this sudden act of mercy. Death of the enemy meant victory. Why should there be mercy? The gunman stood lost in a moment of bewilderment, as if he had perhaps misheard the verdict.

"You have changed into something hideous, Davoren," confessed Vincent demurely, "Until now, I had been content to just think of you as Professor Hojo's puppet-slave..an enemy I had to eliminate," his tone softened into profound thoughtfulness, "But while we were fighting, I suddenly realized something: never once had I asked myself why you changed."

Davoren tensed as he felt that crimson gaze search too deep into him. It seemed to unravel many complexities to discover the simple truth hidden inside. No, he did not like that gaze at all.

"Feh! Come now, Vincent!" he mocked with such brash scorn, "I tore that girl from your arms. Remember? Remember all that anger you felt? That hatred? Surely you want to kill me for that."

His vicious tone dripped temptation. Vincent's muscles stiffened involuntarily: and how could he ever forget that terrible night? Him standing there helpless...watching Davoren kiss the tearful Aeris...it was all burned clear into his memory. Yes, inside boiled enough rage to kill this gunman.

Not anymore. It seemed Vincent had indeed gained an entirely new insight;something far stronger than any mockery or murderous temptation could destroy. He remained unprovoked.

"At first, I could not understand why or how you could change," Vincent answered Davoren with calm words instead of bullets, "It's strange. You think life, including your own, is so cheap...just as long as there's more blood to shed. You were a dark riddle."

He indicated Rufus with a curt nod, "But this boy gave me the solution.Now I see through you, and for once, I understand you perfectly...more so now than ever."

The atmosphere around lingered in rigid tension, its weight heaviest upon the silent gunman. His unemotional exterior could not conceal the dread inside.

"You and I are very similar, Davoren. There is this wretched pain inside of us. Everything else withers away, but the pain grows until our very lives revolve around it. We plod on, searching for a way..ANY way to get rid of it."

He ventured a step forward, as if to draw some invisible bond closer. Yet if there were any bond, Davoren nervously brushed it aside with a derisive scoff, "What absolute nonsense! Heh! 'Pain'? There is nothing inside of me. It's all hollow and dead."

"There is pain, Davoren. I see so much pain and sadness behind your smile," Vincent's gaze reached deeper into that pink brilliance, where it found a warm core hidden there. So gently, he touched it. So gently, he muttered the name.

"...Donal."

Strange how one person could drift through dozens of different experiences unaffected, yet be so violently stirred by a single name. It evokes a storm of memories and emotions. They could be joyful and welcome. Or bitter, shunned but not forgotten.

On hearing that name, Davoren's eyes twitched to a harsh, narrow glare. He stiffened in place, clutching his wounded arm so tight, he could have torn his flesh out.

Rufus looked on in puzzlement. He softly echoed to himself, "..D..Donal..?"

But this scene belonged to three men; two stood pitted against each other, the third was a ghost lingering between them.

"It took me a while, but I finally remembered Donal. I even remember you once spoke about him to me," Vincent reflected coolly upon Davoren's anger, "You loved him dearly. It showed in your eyes, even the warmth of your voice. Yes, you even sold your own beliefs and became a Turk for him."

The gunman growled back, "Stop it."

"And when he died, you were left alone with all this pain and bitterness. That is why you shed blood. You hope that if you shed enough, it will blot over Donal, and you won't feel pain anymore."

"I said stop it!"

"You channel that pain into evil and brutality, then unleash it onto the world around you," Vincent's voice gained impressive strength over Davoren's, "But it doesn't lessen the hurt, does it? It only makes it worse. And you repeat the same cycle again and again until you can't stop anymore!"

The gunman blistered under forced silence, for a moment overwhelmed by this merciless bombardment. Rage burned hot upon his face. His limbs trembled.

Vincent dwelt upon dangerous grounds. The more he unveiled, the greater swelled Davoren's fury. Yet regardless, he peeled through deeper layers, "That night you tried to kill Lucrecia...that's when you first slipped. For a long time, you've been flooded by pain and anger. You hid it all well, but it still grew worse. In the end, pain overwhelmed you, and it turned into this desire to shed blood. It was so strong..so insane, Davoren, you just couldn't resist."

It had taken him this long to finally understand. Thirty-one years ago, he killed this man in a apple orchard. He then placed that memory on the upper shelf, and left it there untouched. No questions. No reflections.

Now that memory filled his mind, and he understood. Davoren was prisoner of a bitter pain he could not escape, so much like himself. But that night, he surrendered his despair to a murderous demon. He could not stop, even at the cost of his own life. What mattered was drowning the pain, in blood if need be.

"And there you stand," Vincent hammered on, "The pain still eats you alive. You still shed more blood...soak your hands in red...let the sight burn you blind...it's all to forget Donal!"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY MY BROTHER'S NAME, YOU BASTARD!" exploded Davoren in a sudden burst of passion.

Every time that name was spoken, it wound his wrath tighter and tighter, until at last the coil snapped. He trembled all over, breathless from his own outburst.

"Don't mention him or even utter his name," he hissed, "He was the first thing I got rid of. It's all dead in the past."

"I don't believe that," retorted the composed Vincent, "Donal is the only thing you still cling to after all these years."

Davoren glared back. Again, he was beaten into silence, unable to stop this torture. Vincent's cool voice forced him to listen to things he obviously did not want to hear. And those ruby eyes spilled out so many secrets he had long kept bottled inside.

Indeed, neither threat nor fiery glower could affect Vincent, not even scorch his composure. He would still speak.

"You think you've turned yourself into an empty shell. You think you've cast off the old Davoren to become Hojo's slave. That's what I..what everyone thought too."

Yes. This hated gunman. The same who had long hounded Aeris, then against all pleas and tears, carried her back to Hojo. He fought like a maniac, stooping to any lows just to obey orders. Everything the "old" Davoren would hate, this one enjoyed. A heartless killer, a hound dog, and a lowly servant for his master.

"But this boy proves us all wrong. He paints your true picture. It is a picture of kindness, pity and protection. You showed him that because you care for him, just like you cared for Donal. It's not because Hojo ordered you."

Davoren said nothing.

"The old Davoren hasn't died. He IS alive somewhere within. You've only drowned him in grief, and gave this monster control."

Vincent's gaze softened upon the ruined gunman. Even his tone assumed a certain gentleness as he pleaded, "Bring your old self..your true self..back to the surface again, Davoren. This is just a mask. Behind it, Rufus can still see his caretaker, Donal can see his brother," something like a smile floated past his lips, "..and I can see you..the Davoren who has always been my friend and by far the better man."

Vincent turned slightly away in conclusion, "That is why I have lowered my gun, Davoren. From here onwards, I refuse to fight you."

They stood riveted in a long moment of silent scrutiny. Vincent's exterior had returned to its unemotional state, yet his crimson eyes lingered upon Davoren. In them brimmed a deep warmth. He waited.

He wanted to destroy this demon, not with blood and fury, but with gentle, simple words...just discard all hostilities and strip the truth to its barest core. To him victory didn't mean the enemy's death. True victory was making Davoren see the truth as he did now.

Davoren had survived so many fatal attacks, yet in the end could not withstand these words. The longer he pondered them, the weaker he grew. Like day fades to night, his harsh anger slowly sunk to wistful sadness, tinted by some shame. From Vincent he glanced to Rufus, then sealed his eyes shut, as if sealing them away from his own emotions.

Davoren dropped his gun to the ground. He was defeated.

The air around brimmed with such sorrow. From afar, Vincent watched the gunman in morose meditation. Tonight had forever changed his view of this man.

During this whole time, Rufus had listened in silence. After some hesitation, he took a step towards Davoren. But the gunman immediately shunned him off by staggering two steps back. He hugged this agony tighter against himself, and would let no one, especially the boy, hold it.

Nobody spoke. What could be said? There are some scars that remain open, and no words could ever stop the bleeding. How well Vincent knew that.

At that moment, he suddenly discerned an insidious presence lurk nearby. Vincent darted his alarmed attention down one of the side-bridges. There at the entrance stood a wasted black figure. Its narrow yellow eyes glared upon this scene, particularly Davoren.

It was none other than Professor Hojo.

-End of Chp.67

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	65. Chapter 68

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.68 

If ever a presence evoked such dread, Hojo's well exceeded any other. All around, ghosts and ghouls crowded the shadows to behold their king, a devil worst than Satan himself. The creature stood poised at the very end of the side-bridge. His lanky frame could barely be distinguished from the darkness. Yet his round specs, like two brilliant flashlights, gleamed yellow malice from one side to the other; from Vincent and the boy, over to Davoren.

Nobody knew when or how Professor Hojo had crept here, nor did the scene require much to understand: just the sight of the gunman, with his weapon flung upon the floor, explained it all.

Apparently, the sly Professor had foreseen such treachery. Indeed, that peculiar "resentment" he caught in Davoren's eyes had long played upon his suspicions. So strong, Hojo hadn't pursued Aeris as believed (he could capture her anytime), but instead, lurked the shadows while observing the battle from afar.

And much to his displeasure, his suspicions proved correct.

"I might have expected you'd eventually betray me, Mr. Davoren," Hojo hissed severely, "But never had I dreamed it would be for THIS!"

The monster, already fuming rage, emerged from the darkness, out where everyone could feel his odious aura. His hard glare warned of dire punishment. From his place, however, the gunman only gazed back in a mixture of indifference and fatigue.

"You are mistaken, Professor. I am still your slave. You can kill me if you want, or spare my life," Davoren's eyes strayed far into sorrow as he added tiredly, "..it never mattered to me. Ever since I lost him..it never mattered."

Beyond that, he could say no more; the words got caught in his throat.Gone that smiling confidence and brutality. All drowned by lonesome despair. As he appeared now, even breathing seemed a heavy burden.

In the end, nothing had changed. Davoren may have succumbed, but he still considered himself Professor Hojo's property; a lowly dog who simply did not care how his master treated him.

Unfortunately, the Professor was neither amused nor pleased. He regarded this as outright treason, and would not forgive. For by discarding his gun, Davoren had openly defied orders. Hojo could take his life, but he could never make him fight again.

He could never make him kill the boy.

For a long moment, Hojo stood there arrogantly posed while pondering this problem, never once lifting his glower off the traitor. Irritation crumpled his whole face. Even his high forehead pinched over into a tight knot. He may have appeared wasted: his clothes, especially the labcoat, were ragged; his raven-black hair dangled all about in chaos. But no one dared demote the eeriness this withered creature emanated. That alone seemed to hold this entire scene in aching suspense.

Whatever verdict Professor Hojo reached, it certainly would not be merciful. He tied his two scrawny arms behind, then paced forward. His slow footsteps drummed the beat of Death. All eyes followed.

"Honestly, Mr. Davoren," he snorted with enough venom to poison the man, "I always thought you were a sentimental idiot, even back then. I cannot understand why everyone admired you so much. The 'great' leader of the Turks, more prone to petty emotion than reason!"

A dreadful premonition spiraled up through the air. Vincent remained stern in place. Anticipation darkened his demeanor, more so as he gripped the gun tighter. To be honest, he knew not what he'd do if the Professor tried to harm Davoren. Rufus lingered tensely behind. Quite obviously, he feared for the gunman.

To contrast, Davoren showed the least concern. Let Death take him, or may he lived forever in contempt. Either way he didn't seem to care. He stood slouched up upon two weak feet, still clutching his injured arm even though he hardly noticed the pain; the mental anguish felt far more bitter.

Since he lost "him", it never mattered. The loss had carved a wound deep into his heart, where everything drained away: not just strength, but emotion, will, and integrity.

The side-path merged into the main bridge. It led upon the wide space separating Vincent and Davoren. The callous Professor stepped here, so that between them, both men could see him in full view. Hojo confronted the traitor straight out, almost pouncing on him. For now, he ignored the two men in the background.

"And this only proves my point! Look what you betray me for! A bumbling lunatic!" snarled the scientist, gesturing indignantly towards Rufus, "That you would develop such a pathetic...'soft spot' for this wretch! UGH!"

His open brashness outraged the listeners more than Davoren himself. Rufus scowled. His fists tightened to restrain his anger and rising anxiety. Though Vincent's visage remained stone-hard, inside boiled deep hatred.

Nevertheless, they remained silent. Davoren let the brazen scientist snub him to the dirt; the experience certainly was not new. He accepted it all with vacant eyes cast downwards.

Hojo could have killed him there and then, However, the slimy-skinned monstrosity, after another violent oath, suddenly wheeled half-way around to face the other two men.

Events brought them to a second encounter. He returned Vincent's glare with twice the spite: this stubborn man was rapidly becoming a thorn in his side. Only two ways to remove him: Death or relinquish Aeris. (And since Hojo would never even consider the second option, that left Death for Vincent). Not only had he won the battle, he also reduced Davoren to this incompetent state.

His attention then flashed onto Rufus, who though a bit shaken by that viciousness, still maintained a firm stand. It flustered Hojo to know his henchman dared betray him for this "lunatic", when in fact he had only been assigned to keep him alive. However, the Professor's fury slowly abated to contemptuous thoughtfulness. Indeed, those reptilian eyes seemed to hone in on a secret deep within Rufus; somewhere beyond the boy's reach.

"Yes..this wretched boy," he mused aloud, "He suffers from severe emotional trauma and amnesia, with occasional mental instabilities. In any case, it is quite unlikely he will ever recover."

He added, rather mockingly, "Such a shame. He would have told you some interesting facts. This boy is actually an accomplice to my experiment."

At first, Vincent thought he had misheard the word: an "accomplice"? As in a partner in crime? He glanced quizzically towards Rufus. The confused boy only gaped back at the Professor; he didn't understand either.

"Feh! Don't go dragging him in too, Professor," spat Davoren restrainedly. He cared nothing about his own fate, but wouldn't allow anyone to involve the boy, "Rufus wasn't even born when you started this mess."

"No, of course not."

Hojo haughtily adjusted his specs, tilting his chin up for added effect. Upon his lips hovered a mysterious smile, "But you will soon discover, Sir, both father and son have much to do with this experiment."

His riddles stirred more dread. Vincent's sharp gaze narrowed upon this devil in search for answers: what did he mean? How could two ShinRa generations have any share in this madness? On the other side, Davoren waited in anticipation. Obviously, the same questions pestered his mind.

But most anxious of all was Rufus. For some reason, that strange word troubled him to the core.

It amused the Professor to torture his listeners with suspense. He strolled over to the iron balustrade at perfect ease. There, he gripped the railing with one hand, and whimsically gazed into the black abyss below as if into the distant past.

"JENOVA Project consists of two parts, the first being Sephiroth's birth" he spoke deliberately into the pit, "That part, as you recall, was conducted in Nebilheim. Old President ShinRa fully supported it. Oh yes, he provided us with all the necessary equipment, safety, and funding."

Nothing new, but the tension grew so heated, it burned their nerves.

"And..he also supported the second part...my experiment. 'Genesis Retrial'. It was a secret only he and I knew: I would take the Project to a higher level, and he provided me with everything I needed" Hojo's smile widened as he peered askance to Vincent, "...even human test subjects."

It spelled one word: conspiracy.

The sudden revelation struck both Vincent and Davoren harder than lightening. They gaped amidst a whirl of pure shock, having heard the Professor, but failed to fully comprehend. They'd been locked in darkness for an eternity, and now a burst of light had exploded full into their eyes. They've only just begun to see.

"Then..President ShinRa..knew you'd alter our bodies?" Davoren blurted in astonishment, "He sent to us Nebilheim...on purpose?"

"It was a set-up," breathed Vincent sternly. His pulse raced to absorb this blow.

"Quite so. President ShinRa..heheh..'donated' you both to science" chuckled the Professor at their consternation, "He then had all your records destroyed, all traces erased, and you became the experiment's property."

The truth stood out bare and ugly, yet nobody could grasp it. Vincent's mind rushed back thirty-one years. There, President ShinRa greeted him with a cheerful guffaw, between his fingers a cigar. The uncouth, corpulent man would waddle around excitedly, always busy, always scheming.

Scheming ways to strengthen his empire. If successful, "Genesis Retrial" would spawn a creation far superior than any Sephiroth...just the power President ShinRa would love to control. He had always lusted for money and power, as much as Hojo lusted for science. So, they'd combine their interests: he provided Hojo with the means, and Hojo provided him with results.

Hojo had needed human test subjects, and President ShinRa sent him two subjects. Both Vincent and Davoren had long fallen victims to a conspiracy. Only now did they realize it. Thirty-one years ago (such a long time, they walked into Nebilheim: two men unwarily delivered to become "correcting fragments". All Hojo had to do was receive them.

Vincent still remembered that day ShinRa bid him farewell before his departure. No, he didn't see what ulterior motives lurked behind those piggish eyes. Human life was cheap to ShinRa, and now they truly realized how cheap.

It took Vincent another moment before the truth finally sunk in. On looking across to Davoren, he found the man at a complete loss.

"Time passed," the Professor resumed. He strolled along, running his fingers over the railing in smug confidence, "I became busy testing and analyzing Sephiroth, as well as accumulating data on the Cetra. I was preparing for 'Genesis Retrial'. But shortly before I finalized my results, the President was murdered. Then as you know, Rufus ShinRa assumed presidency."

When he stopped, it was a short distance away from Vincent. However, Hojo's shrewd eyes dwelt upon the boy behind, "We held a secret meeting. I fully revealed the details of my experiment to Rufus: theory, results, data, and the ultimate outcome. As I expected, he became much interested."

First came the father. It was the son's turn next.

"He provided me with everything I needed to take this experiment to its final stages. In fact, Rufus ShinRa granted me full use of this secret laboratory and all other services the company could offer."

Rufus' face paled. He stared speechless at the Professor, his "accomplice", as he heard this dark piece of his past unfold.

"Without him, I could never have come this far," the amused scientist admitted. He looked around between the two men for a reaction, "Hehee...I even showed him the files on you gentlemen. It listed all your abnormalities, my personal observations, relevant data and analysis. He saw and knew everything about the experiment!"

At first, Vincent could not guess how Rufus had known the experiment's name or why he'd feel he had seen his face before; they had never met. Now it made sense. While that scanner-machine searched for some 'information, it had spilled vague memories upon his mind: his past, the explosion, and the experiment. Endless texts, photographs of the specimens, complex diagrams...all memories of 'Genesis Retrial'."

Hojo scoffed outloud, with an arrogant gesture obviously meant to deride Davoren, "Any pity on Rufus would be wasted; he showed none for you. He could very well had terminated my experiment..possibly had me charged for a string of nonsense. But no. Instead, he supported me. It didn't bother him what I had done to three men in the past or how I used them, just as long as I achieved success."

Rufus would have spoken out had he the strength. He struggled to comprehend this atrocity which now lay at his feet. He tried so hard to remember. Nothing. That memory was forever lost.

But, his sad face admitted this somehow to be true. If he could not recall, he certainly felt the smudge on his consciousness. Just like Davoren had said: it didn't matter whether he remembered or forgot. He was like them, guilty of so many crimes, even this one. No doubt those truthful words stung him now, more bitter because Davoren himself was standing there. Perturbation, anger, and shame all overwhelmed this boy. For once, couldn't he see himself for what he truly was?

Perhaps Davoren too felt the sting of his own words upon Rufus. He watched the boy in a solemnity tinted by gentle concern. Vincent studied Rufus a moment, then returned to Hojo. He felt a keen revulsion sicken his stomach.

Father and son think exactly alike, Vincent thought to himself, they're both greedy jackals.

The second President had merely sought to finish what the first President started, and reap the rewards for himself. Power and wealth held such allurement to the ShinRa's. Both generations were accomplices to this experiment.

However, something strange suddenly caught Vincent's attention.

"..'three'?" he echoed in puzzlement. Hojo had said "three men"

Davoren too noticed the mistake, "There were only two. I was the first, Vincent the second."

"No," argued Hojo. He smirked over his shoulder at the baffled gunman, "You weren't the first. Another man was before you."

His riddle mystified the listeners in an air of premonition. They waited as though for a time-bomb to explode. Hojo, still focused on Davoren, turned to face the confounded man. His aura reeked of something heinous. Everyone, especially Vincent, discerned its foul stench.

"I couldn't perform such delicate alterations fresh upon the human test subjects," spoke the monster to Davoren alone, "I needed a specimen to..'practice' on first, just to make sure I get the all the procedures right."

Indeed, a cold, sinister meaning played behind those words. Vincent tensed as he felt it crawl up his spine. For some reason, he didn't want Davoren to hear the rest, as if it would destroy him to dust. But by then, it was already too late. The perplexed gunman said, "I was never told of this."

"And for a good reason," replied Hojo, "That man was your brother."

-End of Chp.68

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	66. Chapter 69

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.69 

Time froze in the dead of silence.

One sentence. Five words, yet they pierced clean to the inner most core. Davoren stood there solid, too petrified to even breathe. Around him swirled a whirlwind of raw emotions no mind could grasp.

That man was your brother.

His eyes gaped wide. The words still echoed through his stunned ears. Across the bridge, Vincent stood stone-rigid. The unexpected blow had struck him dumb, rendering him unable to gather his scattered thoughts. Rufus lingered behind no less shocked. Of all bombshells, this one caused the most horror.

That man was your brother.

"..you lie," Davoren's voice rasped out dryly.

"No," insisted Hojo, "You full name is Davoren J. Murdock, correct? That man was a Turk too. His name was Donal J. Murdock."

"You lie!" he thundered back. Anger and fear strained his face tight, "My brother disappeared on an escort mission to Wutei! They never found his body, but-"

"Oh, is that what they told you? Here, let me enlighten you!" exclaimed the professor with such mockery, it scathed Davoren back to silence, "Yes, your brother was sent to Wutei. However, it was planned on a certain night, he would be abducted, and smuggled back to Midgar. He was brought to another lab facility, actually. There, I conducted all necessary experiments on him."

Davoren could have denied it..shut his ears and ran far away. But the ugly eyes of truth gaped into his, and he could not budge. The story awakened him from one nightmare to a reality far worse.

He faltered anxiously, "..and President ShinRa..knew of this all along..?"

"Of course!" Hojo brushed the stupid question aside, "He sent him to Wutei and masterminded the whole set-up."

Davoren did not need to hear the answer. He already understood: President ShinRa had played him for a fool, and he never realized it until this moment.

In the background, Vincent stood suppressed under stern anger, listening to this infamy. The conspiracy all wove into one cloth: Professor Hojo had required two male human test subjects. The President complied, and his choice fell on his two best Turks. But first, Hojo requested a "dummy" specimen for practice (as if this were a game!) Any female specimen would have been inappropriate, so Cindy was overlooked. That foreigner Turk, Gerald, was excluded too. Probably, the President feared his disappearance might spark some international investigation, and that would jeopardize their plans.

So, he gave Donal to Professor Hojo. And once Vincent was accepted into the ranks, The President decided to give both him and Davoren to the experiment.

"He was quite young as I recall!...around the boy's age, hm?" declared Hojo, nodding once towards a very troubled Rufus.

Davoren emptily stared back. He could barely keep steady anymore, let alone find the strength to speak.

Which pleased the Professor quite well. He rubbed his chin, all the while sneering at the speechless Davoren, "I remember him because he raved so much during the tests...it was quite incredible. Yes, he became hysterical and cried. He struggled non-stop. I even had to keep him drugged the whole time. But despite that, he always screamed out some name...probably yours."

The joke was too delicious. Hojo gave one insolent guffaw, "But of course, you never knew that! You still thought he was somewhere in Wutei! HA HA!"

Vincent grit his teeth. Inside, he seethed on the verge of strangling this creature, if only to silence him: he had revealed many outrageous truths, but this was simply going too far!

Davoren had endured many, many attacks. They battered his body and tore his clothes, but none of them pained him as much as this one detail: that his brother had cried out for him, and he did not know.

He had been blind to not see the truth. He had been deaf for not hearing Donal's wail. Now he stood there in a stupor; the ridicule of Professor Hojo and every ghost around, including President ShinRa's.

"Then..is..is Donal alive?"the desperate man asked hoarsely.

Hojo measured up Davoren bottom to top, just a final look before he'd quash him flat. He couldn't wipe that insufferable grin off his wrinkled face.

"Answer me, damn you! Is my brother ALIVE!"

"No. When I finished the tests and gathered the results, I killed him. His body was destroyed."

Silence again. Davoren's ghastly-pale face showed how deep the words had stabbed him: straight into an open wound. Pain and grief gushed out until it flooded his entire soul. He began to tremble. His eyes, haggard and wide, gazed beyond the Professor, beyond the darkness. What did he see?

Could he see Donal there, looking back at him? In that glazed stare, what horrors were recounted?

Donal...you are a restless soul that forever haunts your brother. Were you abducted from your bed in the dead of the night? While you lay on the operation table, under the tortures of a black demon, how often did you cry for your brother? You must have been cold, frightened, and so alone. You must have suffered terribly...it showed in your sad eyes.

And what could Davoren hear in this deathly stillness? His brother's painful screams, calling out him name? Hojo's cackle, or President ShinRa stuffing his head with lies?

He knew everything. But what did that matter now? The truth had emerged thirty-one years too late.

"..y-y'know..," Davoren faltered, "..I..I raised Donal..ever since he was a little child. He was more than my family...he was literally my whole life."

His tremulous voice dropped to a bitter whisper coiled in heartache, "And I did love him...I loved him so much. There was nothing I wouldn't do, even sacrifice myself a thousand times for him."

The man spoke in a daze, more to himself than anyone else. Hojo was totally uninterested in this display. Vincent, on the other hand, listened in tense thoughtfulness; he sensed Davoren's turmoil rise within himself, growing sharper by the moment.

"I served President ShinRa all those years...took his orders-kill, threaten-anything! And you..," he turned to Professor Hojo, bewildered,  
"..you were under my nose all along..and t-then..after you altered my body, I became your slave.."

Hojo only squared his shoulders in cold scorn. The boy, overcome by anxiety, watched this tragedy without a word.

"And now..after all these years..you tell me it was you?" in all his life, Davoren never looked more crushed as he asked, "You took my brother..m..murdered him for an experiment. All this time I served you both, I was actually serving his murderers?"

There was no need to reply. For a moment, Davoren lost himself in a tempest. The fierce winds tossed him around so many emotions. They strained his eyes to an unnatural pink brilliance.

Maybe he still saw Donal there. Maybe he felt the mockery shred him to pieces. But this truth, the simplest one of all, hurt the most: all this time, he had been serving his brother's murderers.

The strain tightened and tightened until suddenly, the chord snapped. Davoren's face uplifted to a weak, deranged smile.

"Heh..heheh..I..heheh..," he simpered in madness, "..I find that v-very..funny...heheheh.."

He began to chuckle. Soon, the chuckle erupted into loud, delirious laughter. It rattled his frame until tears streamed down. The demented man couldn't stop. He laughed harder and harder, even staggered back from the intensity. Sense was lost. Davoren didn't even seem aware of his surroundings anymore.

They all beheld the madman from afar. Hojo hardly flinched a reaction. Poor Rufus seemed ready to rush forward, but Davoren's crazed appearance kept him well behind. Vincent's face darkened to solemnity. If anyone, he felt that anguish best behind Davoren's laughter. It was so similar to his own: something horrible carved into their consciousness. A burden without release.

The burden suddenly became too heavy. Davoren collapsed hard to his knees and hunched over, where the maniacal laughter dissolved into bitter, hard-grit sobs. Here sat the most pitiful sight of all: the sight of a helpless man reduced to tears.

He had served his brother's murderers. He had served his brother's murderers. Donal had screamed out for him...

..and Davoren had served both his murderers.

Everyone saw the truth tear him inside out. Over and over it stabbed him until all grief exploded to the Heavens above, "MY GOD, DONAL! WHAT HAVE I DONE! WHAT HAVE I-UGH!"

It struck dead-on. The attack pierced straight through Davoren's lungs, catching that desperate wail midway in his throat. Much to Vincent's and Rufus' alarm, the man instantly doubled over against a severe coughing fit. In truth, Professor Hojo had grown weary of this woeful scene.

"Tsk! for shame, Davoren," he scolded with arms crossed, "A grown man over sixty, throwing a tantrum like a six year old child."

Vincent's muscled stiffened. An imminent disaster rang through the air.

Davoren struggled to breathe, but hacked out a spume of blood instead. He convulsed at a loss for voice and strength, pinned prisoner beneath Hojo's glare. It seemed Hojo possessed greater power over the gunman. Indeed, his fit reached such ferocity, Vincent even felt it nibble at his own chest.

"This is the thanks I get for saving your measly life," regretted the callous scientist, "Ungrateful git! If it wasn't for me, you'd have-"

No more degradation. Davoren angrily cut him short by slamming his hand against the floor, all in a feeble attempt to rise. Despite the agony and through his tears, he growled out forcefully, "I would rather...burn in Hell..than owe my life to YOU!"

The spiteful declaration won the monster's contempt. He scoffed back, "Then you can consider your wish granted!"

The punishment was gruesome death, no hesitation or mercy. In one swift movement, Hojo swung round one arm in deadly grace. A fiery-green blaze immediately swallowed his whole hand, sparking wild flames all about. His glare caught the target in sight. Next blink, and he hurtled this massive alien energy straight at the helpless gunman, just as Rufus cried "DAVOREN!" in wild alarm.

Davoren simply blanked out.

Vincent, however, reacted on sheer impulse. One split-moment before Hojo fired, he shoved the boy far back out of danger,  
at the same time dashing forth at a phenomenal speed, past the scientist, straight down the bridge. He forgot his wounds and weakness for demonic momentum. Right now, all focus riveted on reaching Davoren in time.

The mega-blast wreaked havoc hot upon Vincent's heels, roaring destruction as it tore the floor apart. Still, Vincent led the race. Faster and faster, until at last he dove head-in for the stunned gunman. He miraculously swept Davoren aside, just before the chaos screamed by in disappointment. Instead, it collided into the slope of debris just ahead.

Vincent suddenly lost hold of events. A thunderous boom deafened his ears. He felt a hurricane force blow him away, where his shoulder broke through a hard barrier. Nevertheless, he held tightly onto Davoren. They seemed to plunge down in slow motion. A rain of debris surrounded them. Dazed, Vincent somehow looked up. He saw the bridge grow farther and farther.

He understood: that explosion had blasted them both through the balustrade, right off the bridge.

Rufus had witnessed the disaster from afar. He could not contain his deep-shaken terror. At once, he scrambled to his feet again and rushed aside to the balustrade, almost tumbling as he leaned far over the rail. There, he caught a brief glimpse of the two figures plummet like dead weights down into the abyss. Darkness swallowed them, and they were gone.

The explosion died to an echo. Soon, an uneasy silence befell the air again. The end of the bridge groaned in devastation, its unfortunate floor riven apart all way downwards. A break in the now mangled balustrade marked where Vincent had crashed through just moments ago, along with him Davoren.

Rufus stood lost in frantic perturbation. He still stared wide into the black pit. He waited for a miracle, but the hollow wind of nothingness only answered back. All hopes sunk until at last, his head bowed to the worst. His loose hair fell infront of his face.

Hojo lingered some distance ahead. He only graced the abyss with one contemptuous glance. He was not too pleased with this twist, much less with Vincent's heroism (or stupidity). Rather, he viewed matters the practical way: he had lost two specimens, and could not retrieve them.

His shrewd gaze eventually fell on Rufus, "Well, boy. Looks like it is just you and me."

The boy heard him. His jaw tightened as both hands gripped the railing harder. Inside, Rufus seemed to battle a surge of hot anger.

"..you'll pay for that," he hissed out.

The scientist only lifted one quizzical eyebrow.

Rufus wheeled around to confront Hojo eye-to-eye, himself so enraged by what this man had done, "I..I don't know how..but I swear, Professor, I'll make you pay DEARLY for that!"

"You're hardly in any position to threaten ME, boy," rebuffed Hojo, not at all amused by such boldness, "Huh! My, how the mighty have fallen. You're just a harmless insect now."

Rufus' face darkened to hateful scowl. Those words, though jeering, made him too aware of his present situation: he was alone against this monster. A lot of good anger would do if he could not act. So, he awaited his fate under silent tension.

"I saved you from that explosion, but you don't even know why I bothered," Hojo spoke coolly, "You hold..or rather, held the key to the experiment's success. But still, you don't know why I needed you."

Rufus glared back in suspicion. Indeed, he did not know.

"I needed you...for this."

In announcing that, the Professor reached for his labcoat pocket, and carefully pulled out a small orb. It shimmered a hazy aquatic-blue. A treasure smaller than his palm, Hojo held it out for Rufus to wonder at.

The boy gazed upon this strange orb in a whirl of confusion and dread. But somehow, the glow seemed familiar, like a magical light he had met before.

"..ma..teria..?" Rufus faltered amazedly. He looked to Hojo for an immediate explanation.

Too bad Hojo would not provide any. He retracted the orb back into his long, curled fingers.

"It's a waste explaining anything to a miserable runt like you," slowly, Hojo began to advance forward, "Now then, I could kill you," he checked that thought, "..on the other hand, I will be needing new test subjects since the original two have been lost."

The evil words chilled Rufus to paleness; they held only one meaning. He could not move, not even as Professor Hojo suddenly lunged in like a Cobra for its prey. In this madness, all he could do was raise both arms infront of his face, and squeeze his eyes shut.

Something fast whiffed infront of him. Rufus heard a rough grunt as two bodies collided into each other, one strength against another. But it wasn't him. On opening his confused eyes again, Rufus found a man, tall and quite muscular, had intercepted the attack.

"R-Rude!" he gasped in astonishment.

"Get outta here!" the man forced through gnashed teeth.

Rude held off the flabbergasted Hojo as if holding back a crushing wall. He focused all his main power into one shoulder. Sweat poured down. If he could not push Hojo back, he'd certainly not let him advance another inch.

In the end, Hojo broke off, more exasperated by this unexpected interference than anything else. He skid back a short distance, glaring straight at this stern-faced man. Though obviously outmatched, Rude took his stand firm infront of the bewildered boy, ready for another confrontation if need be.

However, the next attack came from behind. Professor Hojo suddenly discerned a presence sneak up, but not fast enough as the charged nightstaff hammered in three mighty jabs across his back. Reno did not wait. At once, he slipped the staff around Hojo's neck, and shoved it up his throat like a crossbar. He used both hands to hold the monster back against himself.

"Go on, kid! Run for it!" Reno yelled as Hojo began a violent struggle.

Rufus was double stunned, "But..!"

"Urgh! Dammit! I can't hold him back like this forev-"

No, indeed. Hojo had tolerated enough nonsense: infuriated beyond words, he grabbed Reno hard by the head, then literally flung him clear across the bridge, if only to be rid of him. The poor man tumbled over, but somehow recovered again; just in time to anticipate an angry Hojo lunge in at him for a follow-up.

In between these wild moments, Rude managed to forcefully push the boy away with a loud, "JUST GO!". Before Rufus even realized it, he found himself rushing at top speed, through the main entrance, and into the shadows. Far behind, he heard the clash of a desperate battle erupt.

It seemed Lady Luck had protected these two ex-Turks after all. During that collapse, they had managed to flee a long way, almost to the end of the labyrinth, when they fell prisoners. By miracle, the walls and ceiling buckled together in such a way, it left them trapped alive in a pocket of air. From there onwards, they had dug their way to freedom: tore at stone, crawled through tight crevices (with Reno using every curse known), until at last, they emerged into the open.

Unfortunately, they had to make their way around the destroyed Delivery Centre in search of the other two men. On hearing that explosion, they had rushed here, Rude in time to save the boy, and Reno to initiate the offense. They jumped from one disaster into an all-out war; from the frying pan straight into the fire.

No one could deny their bravery or loyalty. But soon..very soon...they'd discover neither quality, just like themselves, could stand up much against Hojo.

-End of Chp.69

Drop me a line anytime Or better yet! Drop by my site!

Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


	67. Chapter 70

I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields -Chp.70 

"Davo..? Davo, wake up."

The gentle voice, at first very muffled, floated through Davoren's ears. He opened his tired eyes half-way.

Light streamed in to fill his gaze. It bathed him whole in pleasant warmth until he melted away to such peacefulness. Not even a ripple of trouble disturbed him. Soon, he found himself flat upon his back, surrounded all around by this glow. There was another presence close by. Indeed, on looking up, Davoren discovered a young man sitting nearby, peering back down at him.

Davoren could not move, nor cared he to even try. He simply stared up in bewilderment at this youth. His very presence filled him with such comfort...such security.

"You've slept a long time," smiled the young man amicably, "C'mon, Davo. Wake up."

Strange enough, the smile looked just like Davoren's. In fact, the youth bore a curious resemblance to him, especially those lovely honey-colored eyes. Davoren blinked- "Davo"? How long has it been since he last heard that nickname?

However, as he gazed into this young man's kind face, a tired yet very happy smile spread across his own.

"..ah..Donny..heheh," chuckled Davoren, rubbing his eyes to disperse the fatigue, "I was having this awful nightmare."

"..a nightmare?"

"I dreamed...you were taken away, and.."

"Heh, silly big brother. You always worried about me, even when I was a little kid. I'm right here. I've always been here."

"It doesn't matter," Davoren sighed all his relief up into the youth's face, "It was horrible..I..I thought it was real. But it was just a nightmare...just a bad dream."

His smile broadened as he felt this safety wrap him from harm. Davoren's happy gaze clung onto the young man, who still beamed down in equal warmth. It soothed Davoren to wallow on his back in such tranquility...just rest here for an eternity.

It crept on him from behind. Through this silence, Davoren discerned another voice in the far, far distance. He tensed, whereas the young man continued to smile as if he could hear nothing. Steadily the voice drew closer upon them until Davoren heard it clearly: it was someone crying out his name.

Wild terror froze him in place at once. He recognized that voice too well. Still the tearful wail grew stronger and stronger. Amidst this madness,Davoren gaped up horror-stricken. But the young man still smiled down; a smile full of gentle kindness, totally oblivious of the insanity raging around.

The scream hammered on...calling his name again..and again...louder and louder...

Suddenly, Davoren's eyes shot wide open. He had regained consciousness at last.

It was quiet here, and dark. The bewildered gunman did not twitch a muscle, but remained thus flat upon his back. He stared emptily at the grey ceiling, where just moments ago that youthful face had filled his eyes. Though awake, Davoren seemed at best half-aware of his surroundings.

There was another presence very close by, thoughtful and morbid. Vincent sat bent over a bit, coolly peering down at this man. Obviously, he had been waiting for Davoren to awaken.

Devil's luck; that's what Vincent attributed to their miraculous survival. That massive explosion had cast them both into the abyss, along with a shower of debris. Down, down they had plunged towards doom when Vincent spotted a balcony just ahead: their only hope!

He still could not believe how he dared this crazy stunt, especially in his ruined state. Then again, the urgency of the moment surpassed any physical weakness. It had all happened during free fall, just as they zipped down past the balcony. Vincent exerted himself to a fast recovery. Somehow, he touched down onto the largest debris piece in reach. Using this as a springboard, he had instantly rebounded straight across, over the balustrade, and clear into safety.

From peril to impunity, Vincent had tumbled wildly across the room, still holding onto Davoren, until he slammed hard into the concrete wall. Not his most graceful landing, but it didn't matter. They were both alive, and there was a floor beneath them.

It appeared they had crashed into a small surveillance room, now just a squalid hovel for ghosts. Some mainframes occupied one side, with many panels of screens running along, all dead and neglected. The air was stale and quite chilly. Yet however shabby this sanctuary appeared, Vincent hadn't refused its shelter. He needed respite to gather his senses again.

His immediate attention had been to check Davoren for any injuries. Much to his relief, the gunman had only lost consciousness. Vincent had then lain Davoren flat upon his back, and since then sat still, watching over him, dreading what may follow once this man would reawaken.

Weakness and pain had finally caught up to Vincent with a vengeance. It had required much effort to subdue his gasps, and even then he could not abate the agony burbling inside.

He had been glad to discover the bleeding in his side had stopped. With luck, it would heal enough to hold him through. Vincent dared not even think about the other injuries; he thought himself better off not knowing. Yes, his battered appearance testified how much damage his abnormal body had endured so far. But if strength ever depleted, he knew the image of Aeris would hold him up.

Still, Vincent had had plenty of time to contemplate his many thoughts while waiting: he spent a long minute wondering about Rufus' fate- had Professor Hojo killed him, or..? What significance had that boy borne? An ominous cloud of mystery still surrounded "Genesis Retrial", but try as he may, all his questions amounted to frustration.

He caught a stray thought of Aeris. The more time that passed, the greater he feared for her. He yearned to whisk her out of this nightmare as much as the Professor yearned to keep her here. On the other hand, he would not leave Davoren unattended.

Not surprisingly, as he gazed upon the unconscious gunman, Vincent's mind had drifted upon the past. He marveled at how well this man had equally proven himself a true friend and a deadly enemy. He still grappled with the truth: old ShinRa had "donated" them to this experiment, while the new one had brought it to its final stages. Both presidents had worked in cahoots with the professor towards the same goal.

And now the goal shone almost within reach. But to Davoren, all truths would fly past except one: Donal, his beloved brother, had been used as the "dummy" test subject. Professor Hojo had cruelly crushed this man's heart before attempting his life.

It was at that moment when Vincent had noticed Davoren stir to life again. He edged closer, just as the man awakened.

Davoren still lay there upon his back, listening to something else above this heavy silence. His blank stare rested upon the ceiling, while Vincent waited all the more gravely. Both men lingered long in the stillness. Even a breath would have sounded too loud.

"I didn't hear him, Vincent," mumbled Davoren tonelessly.

Vincent said nothing.

Nor would Davoren have listened. The gunman spoke in a numb stupor as if lost between two nightmares, "He cried all the time. He was in pain and so scared. He screamed my name out, over and over," his voice trailed farther into hushed sorrow, "..that's what he's been doing all these years..calling my name.."

Despite his feebleness, Davoren somehow managed to sit himself up unaided. Slouched thus into a hunched posture, he stared vacantly into space, "But I didn't hear him, Vincent. I didn't hear him."

The simple sentence chewed on Davoren's sanity. The more he repeated it, the lower he sank into dull shock. The world around faded away, including Vincent who sat nearby. He was alone. Just him and the truth.

That man was your brother.

Vincent studied Davoren from the side in particular thoughtfulness. Never had he beheld such despair..such misery weigh so heavy as upon this man. Davoren seemed quite old now. His face, dirty and wan, showed the ruins of someone scrubbed to utter degradation. His clothes were torn, with the double-holster harness still in tact and tie loose half-down. He cut such a pitiful figure now, more so because he himself did not realize it.

The silent truth still echoed out: that man was your brother...and you served both his murderers.

Vincent could have spoken, only it seemed so useless. Would his voice even reach the gunman through his grief? Besides, what could he possibly say? Davoren, it's okay. They played you for a fool? I'm sorry? He rummaged through words, but found no comfort.

"..Davoren..," Vincent hesitated, unsure how to continue. However, Davoren didn't flinch any response. Strangely, something else far more wondrous occupied his attention. He gaped straight ahead, blank eyes wide with awe.

Most puzzled, Vincent glanced askance towards the source of such fascination. Just a short distance away, he spotted his own gun discarded upon the floor. It had probably slipped unnoticed out of its holster during that crash-landing.

Both men silently beheld the black gun. It filled their eyes, singing a song of dark temptation to those who'd listen. From the weapon back to the entranced Davoren, and Vincent understood: suicide.

Next blink, then Hell broke loose. Davoren suddenly dove in like a maniac straight for the gun, just as the alarmed Vincent pounced on him, and managed to grab him in time.

"LET ME GO!" roared Davoren savagely.

"No, Davoren! Don't!" he begged aloud.

It escalated into a violent struggle. Vincent strove by any means to stop him. In desperation, he tried pleading for sense. All in vain. No effort or entreaty could match the lure of that gun. Frantic beyond reason, Davoren angrily crawled across the dirty floor, despite Vincent's every attempt to pull him back. His outstretched hand groped around until at last it gripped the weapon.

One bullet; that's all it would take. Pain had spawned an endless cycle of bloodshed...crimson red to blot over Donal's memory. Now when it overwhelmed him, Davoren would still spill more blood. This time his own.

But damned if Vincent would let any bullet be fired. Davoren's rage tripled when this man suddenly pinned him down upon his side, then reached over to grab his hand with that claw. The delirious madman struggled wildly.

"Let me go! His face..his voice are in my head! I can hear him screaming my name now! I can't bear it! Let me go!"

In Death, he'd find shelter from the storm. He fought more fiercely, even thrashed his legs about. No good. Vincent would not release him, nor would he stop until he had wrenched that weapon free, "Drop the gun, Davoren!"

"Let me GO, damn you!"

"Drop it!"

"Argh!"

When reason failed, Vincent resorted to brute force. He forcefully twisted Davoren's hand around, disregarding his painful cry, then ruthlessly pounded it hard against the ground several times until he let go. The disappointed gun fell out, whereby Vincent immediately flung it away into a corner.

His attention returned to the distraught gunman. Out of caution, Vincent still held down Davoren, who by then had dissolved into another tearful defeat. Gone all strength, all dignity, even the choice to die had been denied him. Davoren didn't resist anymore. Instead, he languished weakly sprawled upon his side, held prisoner thus.

One could only wonder how much sorrow this pitiful wretch had borne. Again, a storm had swallowed him, and nobody could reach deep enough to pull him out. Still, that wouldn't deter Vincent. He bent over to speak very, very gently into his ear, "Davoren.."

Davoren buried his face away into the dirty floor. Sounds of rage seethed up his throat. He squeezed both eyes, gnashed his teeth, anything to repress it; or maybe to block out Vincent's voice. He obviously didn't want to listen.

Nevertheless, Vincent persevered, "Davoren, if your brother could see you now, he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

"IF MY BROTHER COULD SEE ME NOW, HE WOULDN'T RECOGNIZE ME!" bawled Davoren in one passionate outburst, "I've changed so much, even I can't recognize myself anymore!"

The bitterness quaked his very depths, causing him to tremble like mad in Vincent's arms. But the same grief swamped over again, and his belligerency died into a long-drawn moan, "While we were fighting..w-when Rufus saw me...those eyes..that's EXACTLY how Donal would look if..he saw me..n-now.."

Pain, shame, anger. They all flooded him until he could no longer suppress it. Davoren feebly curled upon himself as misery gushed out. It choked him breathless. So much anguish, from a broken heart onto the floor, just pour it out for all to hear.

Vincent let him cry. No doubt, these were tears bottled up for a long, long time. Throughout this ordeal, he sat huddled up against the man's backside, holding him down to the floor. Outside his face showed no emotion, but inside, he felt so angry at his own helplessness- he could find no words to comfort this devastated soul.

All he could do was offer Davoren silent reassurances of his presence, and wait. Once, when the agony sunk to such lows, Vincent even hugged him against the shoulder for comfort. Here he held the shattered pieces of one man together; and he feared that if he let go now, it would collapse again.

More than thirty-one years ago, Davoren lost his brother. It cut a wound into his heart, and he bled alone in the shadows, concealing the agony from the world around. He yearned to forget this pain. So, he walled himself up in grief, then built another person around that foundation.

He built the opposite of himself. Someone strong, brutal, who would not be affected by emotion or pain. But deep within, the foundation was weak. Now the wall had crumbled, and they found his heart in the rubble, still bleeding after all this time.

What to do with such pain? Keep it hidden, or show it? Everyone must bear his cross upon his own shoulders, but where to take it? And the longer one carried it, the more burdensome it became. Vincent's face darkened: how could he offer any comfort, when he himself didn't know the answer?

"..w..why did you save me?" a hoarse voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. Before Vincent realized it, he felt a violent force shove him off, hard enough to send him landing on his bottom.

Davoren's new strength exploded like a volcano, whereby he scrambled onto both knees in a rush for fury. He almost pounced on Vincent to grab him by the collar. In return, Vincent found himself staring back into the eyes of a madman; harsh and bloodshot with tears.

"We've spent this whole time trying to kill each other...and then you! You have the gall to save me!" Davoren snarled outloud, "BASTARD! What the Hell do you gain by saving me!"

The ravaged gunman fumed with hard-grit hatred, even suspicion: one man's death meant the other's victory, so why? Why would Vincent rush in to save him? This man, just an hour ago his enemy, why would he push Death away, when Davoren should...no, wanted to die?

What does he gain?

Such questions hung open in the hostile air. Amazingly however, Vincent maintained a most serene visage. Nor did he try to break free of Davoren's grip. He answered, "I gain the friend I lost thirty-one years ago."

At first, the reply caught Davoren off guard. There was no hidden meaning, just a plain truth: below the ruins of a hateful demon, Vincent had found his friend again. And for that friend, he'd gladly rush through fire and fury to save him.

It all shone so clear for Davoren to see. But the longer he beheld those solemn crimson eyes, the greater swelled his irritation until he suddenly spat back at full scorn, "Your 'friend' died long, long ago. Don't you know, Vincent?" he rattled the man hard to shake the words through, "I died when my brother died! They murdered ME when they murdered him!"

Vincent absorbed this belligerency unruffled, even as the insane Davoren roared clear into his face, "What can you say now! Do you know how it feels to live your whole life just for someone else?..to be dirt-poor. but sacrifice yourself to give him a better life...raise him from a little child...love him and watch him grow... only to have him snatched away! Do you even understand it!"

He shouted, but the bitterness only echoed back upon his wounded heart. It stirred a flood of memories and emotions: Donal and Donal again. Anguish strained Davoren's face to distortion until he could speak no more. Finally, he flung Vincent away, just as he himself crumbled into bleak despair.

"..aah..your friend..," he lamented weakly, "..your friend is long dead..there's just an empty old man here.."

Outside, he appeared young, but inside there ached an broken, old heart. He sat slouched forward with both legs folded up, hiding his agony in one hand. The storm had left him lonely and desolate; no strength to even cry anymore.

They had murdered his soul. Now he languished for Death to take the rest of him...take this hollow body..this breathing prison of flesh...it was dead and empty.

After being released, Vincent sat himself upon both knees again. As he beheld this pitiful wretch, his eyes darkened into thoughtfulness. There was still more to say.

"Davoren," he challenged gently, "Doesn't the fact that you care so much for Rufus...prove you wrong?"

The gunman peered askance, where he met Vincent's meaningful look. When he found no counter-argument, Davoren just scoffed back, "The boy's a lunatic."

"No. That boy is Rufus ShinRa, the ex-President of ShinRa Inc. He's a criminal, just like us. You've given your kindness to someone you know does not deserve it."

He delved deeper inside, "You care dearly about Rufus, just like your brother. And he was right. All this time, you have been trying to hide him from punishment. You may try, but you can't bring yourself to hurt him or watch him suffer."

Davoren listened in a tired daze. This time as Vincent spoke, he didn't drill through him for the core. Instead, he invited him to dig it out by himself.

"My friend Davoren is not dead. He's right here, the same man I knew thirty-one years ago. I'm sure because only HE could give such kindness to someone everyone else would shun."

Yes, Vincent could recall that day so long ago when they stormed a Reactor full of terrorists. Orders were given to kill them all, and they obeyed. But after the slaughter, only Davoren offered pity and prayer to those terrorists, while everyone else scorned them away. He didn't even regard them as "terrorists". Just "poor, illiterate men" duped into violence.

And now, thirty-one years later, he had done the same thing. When everyone else would disdain Rufus ShinRa, Davoren alone sheltered him. Professor Hojo considered this being "prone to petty emotion". To Vincent, this was a quality far superior to any other.

He fidgeted to add something, however awkward it made him feel or wistful it sounded, "..I..always respected and admired you, Davoren. I see matters as they appear square before my eyes. But somehow, you can reach deeper and see things in a completely different way...the more..'humane' way. I suppose I..wish I had that type of insight too."

Davoren expressed some surprise. Indeed, they had never spoken heart to heart like this before. Yet as they beheld each other, Vincent could perceive his plain words sink into Davoren's consciousness, slowly but surely.

So much had happened since the day they first met. Mysterious Fate had twisted their paths from warm friendship to bitter enmity. Now as they sat here again, it all entangled together into a jumble, and neither man knew how to unravel it.

At last, Davoren broke away to rub his temples, whilst his sad eyes mused upon empty space. After some difficulty, he wearily confessed, "..when I first saw Rufus, it was during one of his spasm fits. I..I found him huddled there like a wild animal...raving mad, clutching his head and shivering in the cold."

Vincent knew the rest. The gunman had then wrapped him in his trenchcoat, and lulled him to sleep with some fairy tale. Yet did he even once consider who this boy actually was?

"I knew who he was..of course I knew," Davoren sighed as if admitting a heinous crime, "All those things I shouted at him..about him deserving punishment..that's what I should have thought of him. But that night, I didn't see 'New Age President Rufus ShinRa'..," he turned to Vincent in desperation, "..I just saw a frightened lunatic. And he was so alone, Vincent. He didn't even have anyone to cry out for! Who was I to judge him for his crimes?..me..with my own hands so bloody..?"

Vincent watched anguish gnaw this man alive. He said nothing.

"..maybe..there's a hole inside of me I needed to fill..I don't know..for all the boy was, I still took him in," his tired voice quivered. Weak,  
devastated, the gunman buried this sorrow into his hands again, "..I just want to forget Donal..oh God..he's still screaming my name, Vincent..I want to forget him..."

He was doomed, forever a prisoner of his own pain. He'd shed blood to blot out one face...one face burned into his mind like a curse. But the more red he spilled, the more desperate he became. For no blood thick enough could ever cover that face completely.

In the silence, these two men waited for nothing. Between them there stood a wall of misery, so high Vincent saw no end to it. He could have withdrawn. But no. Of all barriers, he wanted to break this one the most. If never again, he wanted to reach out for Davoren just once...truly reach out for him past this wall of pain.

He had no clever arguments, just a handful of feelings and a steady voice. With these simple tools, Vincent edged closer to the forlorn gunman, and there placed one firm hand upon his shoulder. Surprised, Davoren lifted his head to look at him.

"No, you are wrong," Vincent stated, "Donal isn't crying out your name. Right now, he just wants to return to you, because that is where he belongs."

His grip tightened a bit on Davoren's shoulder, as if he'd imbue him with enough strength to build a new dignity. Vincent whispered solemnly, "Don't taint your brother's memory with blood, Davoren. It's far too precious for that. And don't shun him out in the cold. Take him back in, just like you took in Rufus, and keep him warm inside."

These words touched the wall at its most sensitive stone. Vincent himself could not quite explain where they had originated. But from afar, he could almost discern a strange aura linger about. With eyes ever benevolent, it seemed to smile back upon him, as if to thank him for being its true voice. Had that been his silent aid?

Strange. It seemed this presence had loitered here all along ...observing these two men...listening to them speak. Was it...Donal?

No one except Davoren could say how deep those words had sunk. He gaped at Vincent in certain awe, for a moment too tired to speak. He dwelt long upon his own shattered thoughts. Maybe he too sensed that gentle presence somewhere about. Whatever happened inside, Davoren's face soon relaxed into pensive melancholia.

"..you've changed, Vincent," he remarked dully. His wistful gaze dug deep into the crimson brilliance, "But tell me...is what you do with your own pain any better?"

This time, Vincent was caught by surprise, as if Davoren had read deep into a place even he himself had never seen before. Those pink eyes mirrored the image upon his consciousness. The reflection filled him with contemplation, but equal dread. In order to reach Davoren, Vincent realized he had bared parts of himself..parts he never knew existed before. If he stopped to think, had he really..."changed"?

In a way, he and this man were both similar and different. Each one dragged his own pain across an endless desert of suffering. But Davoren channeled his outward. Vincent reverted his inward, towards himself. Was that really any better? Could there perhaps be another way? If so, where? He couldn't find it anywhere.

For some very strange reason, the image of those snow fields crossed his memory, with Aeris standing there alone amidst their whiteness.

Davoren, however, interrupted his reverie, "You'd best go now. Your little girl is waiting for you."

Vincent was aroused back into hard focus. Yes. Aeris. He'd have to shelve these many questions. For now, he must hurry. Instantly, Vincent scuffled onto his feet again.

"One warning," added Davoren, "Professor Hojo has this crazy...'infatuation' with her. Find her before he does, and get out of here. Most likely, he's already given you a brain-fever attack...it's just a matter of time before it starts."

The grave-faced Vincent nodded in acknowledgement, then struggled to stand again. Davoren remained slouched on the dirty floor. He sat huddled upon himself, legs drawn up, with his heavy head in one hand.

Vincent limped over to the corner, and picked up his discarded gun. Concentrate. He must concentrate on reaching Aeris. The last he saw her was when she ran away through the southern entrance. That path led down to the lower levels, around here. Then she was close. From this surveillance room, it would take him a while to reach the main hall, especially since he intended to search every corridor. But he could probably manage it.

He glanced quizzically towards the miserable gunman, whose mind seemed stranded miles away. Vincent thought he should stay here a bit longer. But then, nothing remained to be said, and somehow, he knew Davoren wouldn't re-attempt suicide. In fact, maybe it was best to leave him alone.

Besides, there was no time. After a final check, he quietly made his way to the door.

"..Vincent?" called Davoren.

Vincent stopped, his hand frozen upon the doorknob. He peered over his shoulder back towards the gunman.

Without looking around, not even a tinge of emotion, Davoren said, "Goodbye."

Though he realized the meaning of that word, Vincent did not respond. Instead, he took a final moment to study this man. So this would be how they part. This was how he'd remember Davoren last: a wretch sitting upon the floor, with his head in his hand. How ironic. This same man could raise an invincibility level to shield himself from...pain.

Then the moment passed. Vincent opened the door, and marched out before gently closing it again. He never looked behind.

The silence here resembled a tomb's. In the darkness, Davoren sat a long, long time. His hollow eyes hung down upon his shoes, simply because he hadn't the strength or interest to lift them. Around him loomed sorrow..more pain...more bitterness. They all crushed his shoulders with their inconsolable weight.

"We're all soaked in sin..but tell me, Donal..," he whimpered, so lost in a blind daze, "..up there..is there any room up there for bloody demons..like us?"

No voice replied. Slowly, Davoren huddled back into utter dejection. Fresh tears welled up despite his every effort to suppress them. Inside, he had reached a point where he just did not know what to do. All roads were grim, with no solace in sight.

He sat by himself, but not alone. Indeed, if (for just a moment) logic were suspended, one could have sensed a peaceful spirit descend by Davoren's side. It lovingly embraced him into a loose grip, letting him languish, but always reassuring him of its presence. Though two worlds apart, man and spirit sat huddled together on the filthy floor, around them the grimness of a nightmare.

Perhaps this was the answer. After an eternity of wandering, perhaps Donal had finally returned home to his brother.

-End of Chp.70

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Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, settings, plot and relevant events mentioned in this fanfic are full property of Square-Enix. I do not gain any profit from the publication of this fanfic. However, the fanfic "I Know hat's Beneath the Snow Fields" and all original characters, events and ideas mentioned are sole property of me, Zahra. Please show respect for the work & time I put into this story by not stealing it or altering it any way.


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